


Life and Limb (For You, Only You, Always You)

by miangel29



Category: GOT7, JJ Project
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Angst, Character Death, Drug Use, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, miracle au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:02:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22875211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miangel29/pseuds/miangel29
Summary: What if you could speak to those you loved even after death?What would you say if there was a way to tell your loved ones you still cared even beyond the grave?How do you know what's best for those loved ones you've left behind?Jinyoung deals with Jaebeom's death by caring for an old friend. Jaebeom realizes that sometimes it's okay to be selfish when death separates you and your loved one.
Relationships: Im Jaebum | JB/Park Jinyoung, Mark Tuan/Jackson Wang
Comments: 7
Kudos: 55
Collections: JJP Big Bang





	Life and Limb (For You, Only You, Always You)

**Life and Limb (For You, Only You, Always You) - _JJP, Markson_**

***

They say that when people die, they continue to watch over us. That they are simply on the other side of a thinly veiled wall separating the world of the living and those of the afterlife. They say that if you find the right window, you might be able to see between the two worlds, communicate with those you’ve lost, bring comfort and assurance to those you’ve left behind.

They say that when people die, the grief is heartbreaking. And this was true, without exception. Whether one chose to embrace that pain as a strength or let it consume you as prey, whole and unforgiving, lay within each and every person’s choice and free will.

When Jaebeom lost his younger brother, Youngjae, not a single person believed he would survive the ordeal. Both orphaned at a young age, never staying in one foster family long enough to plant roots, trusting very few people outside of their own brotherhood, they relied only on each other as whatever small, makeshift family they could form. Losing one half of that family would understandably be the point of destruction for any single human being.

But, surprisingly, and to the astonishment of those around him, Jaebeom pulled through. Not only that, but he brought more consolation to others who grieved for Youngjae than those people ever did for him. Though few spoke of indignance that Jaebeom’s lack of grief implied a disrespect for his late younger brother, most admired him as the brave, strong soul who had suffered so, so much and could have turned his back on life so easily, but he continued to power on, demonstrating strength that nobody expected from such a fragile upbringing.

Jinyoung had been the first to ask him why. How.

“Babe?”

Jaebeom answered with a soft hum, glancing briefly from his book to acknowledge Jinyoung.

“It has barely been a month since Youngjae…,” even for Jinyoung it was hard to put the truth into words. Youngjae had been just as much as a little brother to him, his illness coming sudden and the journey of his deteriorating health straining Jinyoung’s feelings just as much as they did Jaebeom’s. “Are you sure you’re OK? It seems like you barely let yourself grieve.”

Jaebeom bookmarked his reading, putting the book to a close and settled it on the floor. Jinyoung took his lead, doing the same.

“Do you remember what I said to you the day we met?” Jaebeom asked, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he turned his body to Jinyoung.

A red tinge coloured Jinyoung’s face at the memory. “You said…you said that you wanted to live a life without regrets…,” a shy smile crinkled Jinyoung’s eyes as that fateful day returned to him with sharp clarity, “…and that it would be your first ever regret if you didn’t ask me out on a date.”

“Are you blushing because it was romantic?” Jaebeom teased.

Jinyoung laughed. “I thought it was cliched and creepy.”

Jaebeom gave him a soft shove. “But you didn’t say no.”

“No, I didn’t,” Jinyoung admitted. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

“Youngjae would constantly say that you were completely out of my league and that you could do so much better,” Jaebeom said. “Can you believe he said that? To his own brother!”

“He told me that too,” Jinyoung said with a playful grin. “Multiple times. Asking if I was sure I wanted to stick around with a dork like you.”

“And you did stick around. For nine years, almost ten now.”

Jinyoung sobered up, expression softening with affection now. “And for many more, I hope.” He ran a hand through Jaebeom’s growing hair, paying extra attention to the long tail at his nape.

“I hope so too,” Jaebeom echoed, fingers lacing Jinyoung’s free hand. “Which is why I still stand by what I said: I don’t want to live with regrets.”

Jinyoung continued to stroke Jaebeom’s nape, eyes catching the clear determination in Jaebeom’s. He let Jaebeom speak, wanting to understand, wanting to see what fueled the soul of the man he loved to the point that it seemed indestructible.

“I’m grieving for Youngjae, I am, honey. I lost my brother, the only family I’ve had for so long. I couldn’t possibly _not_ grieve. But he’s gone. I’m still here. I miss him, God, I miss him _so damn much_ and if I could, I would wish he were still here as well. But he’s not. And he’s resting. But it’s not my time to rest yet. I can’t drown in my loss when I still have so much for me, right here, right now. I have a job, I have friends, I have a home.”

Jaebeom raised his hands, cupping Jinyoung’s face, his smile widening as his thumb caressed Jinyoung’s cheeks.

“I have you,” he said. “I’d be an idiot if I let myself forget how lucky I am to have you in my life.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Jinyoung snorted. “Cliched and creepy pick-up lines did.”

They both burst out laughing, Jaebeom doubling over, limbs flying wildly in all directions as he was prone to whenever he fell into raucous, uninhibited laughter. It made Jinyoung almost fall off the side of their couch.

“Youngjae was right; you _are_ a dork,” Jinyoung said, shoving Jaebeom aside to give him space on the couch.

“It took you nine years to realize that?” Jaebeom asked, grinning goofily and grabbing Jinyoung by the waist.

“It took me one date and one forewarning from your brother to realize that,” Jinyoung said. “I just never realized how much of a dork you were until I was in too deep.”

Jaebeom grinned. “You still love me.”

“I do,” Jinyoung agreed. “And I think Youngjae is watching us from up there, still yelling out warnings about how much of a dork you are.”

Jaebeom looked up in the general direction of the ceiling, as though Youngjae’s face would appear somehow. “Aren’t you going to yell something back at him?”

Jinyoung looked up, hands cupping his mouth in an improvised loudspeaker. “It’s OK, Youngjae! Like I keep telling you: I’m a huge dork as well! Your brother and I were made for each other!”

There was no denying the way Jaebeom beamed at the sentiment. But Jinyoung wasn’t done.

“HE’S ALSO REALLY GOOD IN B–.”

Jaebeom snuffed out the rest of his words with a palm, making Jinyoung fall into a fit of laughter at the panicked reaction his unfinished words had invoked. 

“It’s not like Youngjae can hear for real, babe,” Jinyoung said between laughter.

“Youngjae might not, but our upstairs neighbours might,” Jaebeom pointed out.

When Jinyoung’s laughter subsided, he let Jaebeom pull him closer by the waist, his own arm resting on the back of the couch while the other fiddled with the fingers of Jaebeom’s free hand. The kiss Jaebeom gave was tender, warm, comforting.

“It’s OK to be sad, if you need to, you know,” Jinyoung whispered, feeling the heat of Jaebeom’s lips barely inching away from his. “Being sad is not a regret.”

He received a small nod in response. “I know,” he said, a hand coming up to cradle the side of Jinyoung’s head. “Thank you.”

“I love you,” Jinyoung whispered against Jaebeom’s lips.

He let Jinyoung press a kiss. “I love you too.”

“No regrets.”

“Never.”

Those were words Jinyoung learned to live by as he remained by Jaebeom’s side for the years to come. Those were the words he held onto when, three years later, once they had managed to fully make peace with Youngjae’s passing, Jaebeom was diagnosed with the same illness that had taken his younger brother, an inherent genetic vulnerability to it that Jaebeom had very little chance of overcoming. That was the mantra that Jinyoung replayed over and over in his head throughout the two years that Jaebeom’s health deteriorated, a steep downfall mirroring that of Youngjae’s that some pointed out the undeniable line of fate the two brothers seemed to be irreversibly tied to. That was the only thing that kept Jinyoung composed, together, and sane when the inevitable came, and he had had to bid his final farewell to Jaebeom, allowing the earth to put him to his final resting place.

Just like Jaebeom, he was the voice of comfort to those who grieved for Jaebeom, those whose lives had been touched by his kind soul and his warm presence enough to mourn his passing. He stood strong despite his parents, his sisters standing by his side, worried by the severe loss he was suffering and baffled at how well he seemed to be handling himself.

‘No regrets.’ He would constantly repeat to himself, knowing he would only feel guilt for allowing Jaebeom to be only remembered in mourning, and not for the life he brought to the world. ‘Do not live without regrets.’

It was only when the last of the mourners and with an assuring nudge, his own family, left the premises did Jinyoung feel the last remnants of resolve he had clung onto crumble under the crushing, suffocating reality that Jaebeom— _his_ Jaebeom—was gone. He was gone. He would never return. He would never smile at Jinyoung again. He would never poke fun at his awkwardness again. He would never surprise Jinyoung with a warm hug again. He would never kiss Jinyoung’s worries away again. He would never be with Jinyoung again.

And with a look around the now empty apartment, knowing nothing could ever fill the hollowness of the space and his heart, and with one stuttering breath, Jinyoung collapsed on the floor in tears.

***

An innocent glass jar of blue roses placed decoratively on their coffee table glowed, yellow light emitting out of its base, lighting up the violet hues of the roses. Sympathetic eyes gained sight through the light, watching from a world far, far away, the secret window of light his only insight into what used to be _his_ world. The white ball of fluff on his lap let out a consoling yip.

“I know, Coco. Jinyoung-hyung is really sad.”

The dog whined, dropping into a curl. Her owner let out a patient sigh.

“Jaebeom-hyung will be here soon. He probably shouldn’t see this on his first day here.”

He got a small bark of agreement at the same time that a bright light shone through the cracks of the white door nearby. A door that never opened but from which new occupants would always enter.

“Oh! He’s here!”

Jaebeom appeared amidst blinding white light and the sound of ringing bells. Far from the sick person he had been for the past couple of years, his form had returned to that of his peak fit being. His face broke out into a grin at the sight of his younger brother, hardly looking any older than the day he had parted. A perfunctory ruffle of Youngjae’s hair seemed only fitting to christen the reunion.

“I know you’re my brother but you’re an idiot and I still think Jinyoung-hyung can do better than you,” Youngjae said, slapping Jaebeom’s hand away.

Jaebeom chuckled. “Ouch. Harsh. Not even a hello to the brother you left behind and haven’t seen for years?”

“YOU LOST COCO FOR AN ENTIRE AFTERNOON AND SHE ALMOST GOT RAN OVER BY A CAR!” The outburst had been preceded by Youngjae cupping his hands over Coco’s ears.

Jaebeom rolled his eyes. “She’s _fine_.” He glanced over at the dog in Youngjae’s lap, looking confused as to why its hearing was being hindered. “Well, dead now as well, I guess. But at least of old age and natural causes, not by car.”

The glare Youngjae sent his way was venomous enough to make Jaebeom give him an apologetic smile. The brothers’ bickering was further prevented by the sudden glow of the glass jar of blue roses, followed almost instantaneously with the very distinct and unmistakable sound of crying.

“Shoot!” Youngjae scrambled to replace the lid of the jar, but it was too late.

“Was that Jinyoung?” Jaebeom asked, crowding into Youngjae’s space, voice no longer light and happy.

The lid had been replaced correctly and the light was no longer glowing. “I think you should take it easy for your first day here,” Youngjae suggested.

Jaebeom took one look at a worried but sincere Youngjae. “I understand what you’re trying to do, but if that’s Jinyoung, I need to make sure he’s alright.”

Youngjae gave him an uncertain look. “He just lost you, hyung. It’ll take a while.”

“I know,” Jaebeom said, swallowing. “But he’s strong.”

“He is,” Youngjae agreed. “But he still needs time.”

Jaebeom glanced at the jar, tilting his head. “That’s the same one we have at our apartment.”

Youngjae nodded. “It is.”

“You can hear Jinyoung with that?” Jaebeom’s eyes were transfixed.

“We can,” Youngjae said slowly.

Jaebeom trailed a finger on the top of the lid, but Youngjae kept his hands on the closed lid firmly. 

“Can he…hear us?”

Youngjae didn’t answer, but he did take Jaebeom’s lingering hand and give it a comforting squeeze. Jaebeom may have been the one to die and leave Jinyoung behind, but it was nevertheless a separation for the both of them, two people who had loved each other for the better part of their lives, two people Youngjae (despite anything he said to the contrary) believed to truly be soulmates, whichever way the term was defined. Youngjae knew as strong as his brother had been when Youngjae had passed, this parting of ways with Jinyoung was something much, much more difficult for Jaebeom to bear.

“Hyung…why don’t you hang out with Coco for a bit.” The smile Youngjae had was strained, but still earnest. “We still have a lot of catching up to do.”

After a moment’s pause where the hidden meaning behind Youngjae’s well-intentioned words seeped into Jaebum, he finally nodded in acquiescence, letting Youngjae hand Coco over to him and lead him away from the glass jar.

“Maybe you can talk to Mark when he comes back. He says he knows Jinyoung as well,” Youngjae said.

Jaebeom frowned, scratching Coco’s ears as she began lulling into sleep. “Who’s Mark?”

On cue, a soft voice with a sharp lilt to his tone spoke behind Jaebeom. “I’m Mark.”

Coco perked up at the voice, immediately struggling to be free from Jaebeom and making attempts to run towards the person speaking. Turning and meeting his eyes, Jaebeom frowned at the stranger, something lingering at the back of his mind at the sight of the soft-featured and seemingly timid person, thoughts frustratingly refusing to come to the forefront.

“Mark got here a few months ago,” Youngjae explained.

Only when a toothy grin broke out on Mark’s face as he reached out for Coco did the figurative light bulb turn on in Jaebeom’s mind.

“You’re Yi En.”

Finally letting Mark (Yi En?) take a scuffling Coco out of Jaebeom’s arms, he was met with a sad, nostalgic smile.

“That’s what Jinyoung knew me as,” Mark said. “No one has called me that since I was thirteen.”

Jaebeom ignored Youngjae’s questioning look, choosing to furrow his brows in thought. “You were Jinyoung’s best friend since childhood. Jinyoung showed me pictures. You, Jinyoung and Ji…Jar…Jer….”

“Jia Er,” Mark corrected, cuddling into Coco, although his sad eyes never left Jaebeom. “He goes by Jackson now.”

At this, Youngjae let out an audible gasp that he tried, belatedly, to disguise as a wheezing inhale. His wide eyes quivered and Jaebeom was curious as to why the name invoked such a reaction, but Mark was shooting Youngjae a very meaningful glare and his younger brother instantly busied himself with petting Coco.

Mark looked back at Jaebeom. “Please never call me Yi En again.”

“Why?” Jinyoung barely spoke of Mark and Jackson, only bringing up their names when he and Jaebeom would exchange stories of all the ridiculous things they did in their childhood. It would always end on a somber note, Jinyoung always looking like the memory of his childhood best friends brought more pain than joy. Jaebeom never thought to ask why.

Mark fixed him with a stiff stare, face void of any expression. “Not everyone is lucky enough to find their happily ever after like you and Jinyoung.”

Jaebeom opened his mouth to point out that, _no_ , he and Jinyoung did _not_ exactly find their happy ever after because a happy ever after would mean Jaebeom not being here in the afterlife. A happy ever after would mean Jaebeom never falling ill and still being alive to spend more years together with Jinyoung. He was grateful for the time he and Jinyoung _did_ have, but to state it as a ‘happy ever after’ seemed like an over-simplification of the life he and Jinyoung had.

He closed his mouth when Youngjae sent him a warning look. _Drop it_. The silent message rang loud and clear.

“Youngjae, I need another petal,” Mark said to Youngjae, almost absentmindedly, his attention having been poured on Coco.

Youngjae flinched. “Hyung…Jaebeom-hyung just got here, maybe we should show him around and get him settled in his room first?”

Mark looked up, eyes vacant, but when he spoke, his voice had a very dangerous tint to it. “Youngjae, I need a petal.”

More to save Youngjae’s apparent distress at denying Mark’s request than out of curiosity, Jaebeom asked, “What do you need a petal for?”

Mark shot him a calculating glare, but jerked his head in the direction of the glass jar. “The blue rose petals Youngjae guards. One petal lets us speak to the living.”

_Youngjae guards the jar?_ The question was at the tip of Jaebeom’s tongue, but Youngjae willingly took the distraction to explain the mechanics of whatever task he had been assigned in this afterlife before Jaebeom could voice out his surprise.

“It doesn’t let us _speak_ to the living,” Youngjae gave Jaebeom a pointed look, not wanting any false hope to derive out of this information, “it lets us send messages through signs, wind, nudges, objects that are already in the living world. It allows us to help our loved ones when in need. _But we need to use them carefully and sparingly_.” At this, Youngjae turned to Mark, emphasizing his words as a reminder.

Mark tsked. “We have plenty. And it’s not like you need them anyway. Your brother is already dead.”

“That’s not the point, Mark-hyung,” Youngjae said, sounding very much like this was an explanation he’d had to frequently repeat to Mark. “We’re supposed to use the petals to help our loved ones deal with accepting death, not to make it harder for them _and us_ to move on.”

Clearly, there was a heavy implication in Youngjae’s reiteration, but his unwillingness to verbalize it seemed to denote the fragility and sensitivity of the issue.

Mark rolled his eyes. “I asked for a petal, not another lecture about your job. Are you going to give me a petal or not?” 

Youngjae slowly shook his head. “Jaebeom-hyung just got here. I think it’s only right he gets the next petal to send something to Jinyoung-hyung.”

At that, Jaebeom blinked, the gravity of this opportunity only coming to him. He could communicate with Jinyoung. He could help Jinyoung through these difficult times. He could reach out to the love of his life even with the separation of death.

“But not now,” Youngjae said sternly, watching the hopeful expression on Jaebeom’s face. “I think we should all just call it a day and get Jaebeom-hyung acquainted and settled.”

Before anyone could protest, Youngjae was already pushing them away from the room and into a hallway Jaebeom hadn’t noticed. Mark was still holding Coco, but he was looking at Jaebeom with so much distaste, Jaebeom couldn’t fathom what warranted such loathing from someone he had never met in real life.

“Jackson deserves that petal more than Jinyoung,” Mark hissed under his breath, loud enough for Jaebeom to hear but masked by Coco’s yapping that distracted Youngjae.

That simple remark erased all of Jaebeom’s prior intents for communicating his personal encouragement to Jinyoung with a sudden, new resolve to right some wrongs still seemingly needed in the living world.

***

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“You want this to be your very first message?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you want to send something else, like, I don’t know, a picture of you two instead?”

“No.”

“There are no takebacks.”

“I know. I fully understood your explanation.”

“You’re sure about this?”

“YOUNGJAE, FOR THE LOVE OF–.”

“OK, OK, I’LL DO IT. Sheesh.”

A sigh. A glimmer of gold. A blue petal evaporated into beads of light.

“There. It’s sent.”

A grin. “Great!”

***

A month of sorting out legal documents, tying up loose ends, and rearranging his life now as a person of singularity, was as draining as one could only imagine. Jinyoung felt victorious when he could mentally tick off the last of the long line of things he had to do after Jaebeom’s death.

_Jaebeom’s death_.

Somehow the reality was still only sinking in, the luxury of being able to dwell on his feelings and thoughts disrupted by the many, _many_ responsibilities he had to bear in the wake of his partner’s passing. Who knew leaving this world meant also leaving your loved ones with a ton load of legal and administrative affairs to settle in a timely manner?

“You were always so much better at organizing shit like these,” Jinyoung said into the empty apartment as he put away the last of the documents he had to arrange, sign, get certified, and copy for safekeeping. “It’s a shame your OCD didn’t rub off on me. It would’ve been useful.”

Jinyoung felt a little tug at his chest when he saw just how haphazard his placement of documents in the folder were, remembering how such a thing would irk Jaebeom to the point he would forcefully take the papers out of Jinyoung’s hands and establish proper order and categorization for them. What he would give to her Jaebeom grumble about the consequences in his lack of organization. What he would give to, once again, watch in amusement as Jaebeom sat, in concentration, working through a system for the documents, to be smugly proud afterwards as he would show Jinyoung the result of his painstaking work. What he would give to have Jaebeom with him again.

_He’s gone_ , _Jinyoung. And he’d be devastated if he knew that you spent your days wishing for the impossible instead of doing something more worthwhile._ _Like sorting out these documents_.

That last thought sounded too similar to Jaebeom for comfort and Jinyoung couldn’t dwell on having such a voice resonate in his mind, even if it were simply a reflection of his memories. He stood, picking up the folder of documents to keep safe in his bedroom closet, adamantly keeping his eyes away from the bed he hadn’t slept in for months since Jaebeom fell ill and afterwards.

The small photograph caught his attention as he was stuffing the folder into the corner of one of his closet drawers (out of sight, out of mind). It was frayed at the edges, colours no longer vibrant from constant exposure to air and Jinyoung’s generally poor safekeeping (Jaebeom’s voice lingered in a nag at the back of his mind). Jinyoung couldn’t fathom why the picture was in the drawer, though. He particularly recalled Jaebeom having placed all of his childhood and past belongings in a spare, unused luggage along with Jaebeom’s own small collection of childhood memorabilia.

Ignoring the niggling oddity, he held the photograph in his hands, careful to not place too much pressure on the image itself for fear of further deteriorating the material. He was twelve in the picture, a large backpack on his back almost engulfing his skinny frame, his smile wide, toothy and bright, the resulting wrinkles around his eyes already so present even back then. He stood between two other boys, both shorter but that was where their similarities ended. The boy to his right was skinnier than even Jinyoung and his eyes were downcast, only barely glancing up at the camera enough to see a sweet, toothy grin. He hid part of himself behind Jinyoung as though afraid of gaining any attention. The other boy, however, clung onto Jinyoung’s left side like a climbing koala, eyes bright, open-mouthed laughter frozen in the frame, stockier build almost weighing Jinyoung down.

Yi En and Jia Er.

JInyoung’s fingers lingered on their faces, his heart twisting in a melancholy different to that associated with Jaebeom. It had been twenty years since he last saw his two childhood best friends, he realized sadly. His family’s move to the countryside had forced the friends apart, distance proving to be a potent toxin to their young friendship. Even when he had returned to the city for college afterwards, Jinyoung could never manage to locate and rekindle his past, at a loss as to where his friends could be when he had no inkling of where to start looking.

As the thought of his childhood best friends invaded his mind, Jaebeom’s face suddenly invaded his mind, that small, encouraging smile of his making an appearance, the one he reserved for times Jinyoung felt unsure and needed the extra push to compel him into action. _It’s OK. You can do it_ . Jaebeom’s words rang in his head. _Whatever happens, I’m here for you_.

Even in his afterlife, Jaebeom was still caring for Jinyoung. 

Maybe it was time he began looking for his old friends.

***

Jaebeom sat back with a serene, satisfied smile on his face, arms across his chest. Youngjae glanced at him furtively, putting the rest of the rose back into the jar.

“Hyung, why would you do that?” he asked.

Jaebeom touched the side of the jar, feeling neither the cold of the glass nor the warmth of the light emanating out of it. “It’s more important for Jinyoung to find Jackson right now.”

Youngjae looked over his shoulder, biting his lip uncertainly, clearly on the look out for Mark. “Hyung, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Jaebeom asked, frowning.

“Jackson and Mark, they…,” he bit his lip, unsure if he should continue.

Jaebeom leaned in curiously. “What? What’s wrong with them?”

Younghae sighed. “They…they weren’t happy. And they coped with their unhappiness…badly.”

Jaebeom’s head tilted. “All the more reason for Jackson and Jinyoung to reunite. Maybe this can help Jackson.”

Youngjae shook his head sadly. “No, it’s not….” Another deep sigh. “You’ll see.”

***

It took a surprisingly short amount of time for Jinyoung to find the location of his two old friends. Or, more precisely, his remaining _one_ old friend.

Truth be told, Jinyoung had merely been shooting in the dark when he pulled out his laptop and began searching for ‘Wang Jia Er’ and ‘Tuan Yi En’ on his internet browser, unsure of where else to start looking for them, short of actually asking for their information at the police station (and that would have taken a lot more explaining that Jinyoung was very reluctant to do). He hadn’t expected a number of explicit results corresponding to those names (and the new aliases they now utilized), much less articles related to police investigations into a possible suicide.

It was through these articles that Jinyoung discovered his long-lost friend, Tuan Yi En ( _Mark_ , Jinyoung had to remind himself) had died of apparent overdose a few months prior to Jaebeom’s passing. And it was through these newspaper reports that Jinyoung found the last known address of his now deceased friend and the partner he had left behind. Jinyoung could not say he was fully surprised that Jia Er ( _Jackson,_ Jinyoung noted mentally) was listed as that partner.

With only optimism and hope in mind, it was to that last known address that Jinyoung drove, the anxiety and uneasiness settling heavy in his heart at the thought of Mark’s untimely death and increasingly disturbing neighbourhood he was entering into the closer he was to his destination. It really didn’t register with Jinyoung how abrupt his visit was. At least not until he stood right in front of the dark door chipped in corners and rusting in others, fist poised to knock, but the gravity of the situation only hitting him at that moment.

He hadn’t seen Jackson for the better half of his life. The last he had seen of him or Mark had been that last day of school in sixth grade, the trio celebrating their graduation from primary school and anticipating their time together for high school. Jinyoung hadn’t known it would be the last time he saw his two best friends. His parents’ move out of the city had been hasty, rushed and immediate, not allowing Jinyoung to even pack his things properly, let alone bid farewell to his friends.

What would one even say to an unintentionally estranged childhood friend?

Jinyoung was given no time to ponder nor prepare an answer to that question, because as sudden as his doubts had fallen on his mind, the door had opened just as unexpectedly.

There wasn’t a doubt in Jinyoung’s mind that the person who emerged was Jackson, characteristic features distinguishable even as age had caught up with him. Even so, Jinyoung felt his mind calculating the possibility of this _not_ being Jackson because there were so many things wrong with how Jinyoung had imagined his childhood best friend to have appeared in his adulthood. The eyes that looked up at him, eyes he remembered as being sharp, bright, constantly twinkling, were now dull, dark, and, for lack of a better description, dead. The red bloodshot lines snaking amongst the canvas of white did nothing to diminish that illustration. The curl of Jackson’s lips that always tilted upwards at the edges, as though always on the verge of his mischievous signature grin, now sat flat, split in a corner and oddly dry in others even despite the humid weather. It really didn’t help that the clothes he wore were tattered and faded in all the wrong places for it to be deliberately fashionable. Nor the fact that Jinyoung’s nose was immediately engulfed in the overwhelming scent of alcohol and pungent cigarettes (or more).

This was Jackson, Jinyoung would readily testify. But it wasn’t his old friend Jackson.

“Who are you and what do you want?”

The voice that asked was a lot raspier than Jinyoung remembered. Jackson always had a husky, rough quality to his voice that Jinyoung loved because it told so much of Jackson’s thoughts and emotions, even beyond his expressive face and body language. But now, the voice spoke of nothing but sad anger and, dare Jinyoung say it, defeat.

Jinyoung tried for a smile, his voice breaking from emotion and, also, fear. “Hi, Jia Er, I mean, Jackson. I, uh, I’m–.”

“Jinyoung.”

Recognition broke through those dark eyes and, for a moment, Jinyoung thought he saw a glimmer of his childhood best friend again. But the glimmer disappeared as quickly as it had come. The scowl making itself present on Jackson’s face should have come as a warning.

“What the FUCK are you doing here?” Jackson demanded, looking Jinyoung up and down, sneering at the much cleaner ensemble his visitor had. “Come to gloat about how good your life is? Or did you _finally_ remember that you had friends you abandoned?”

“No, that’s not–.”

“His Majesty Prince Jinyoung finally decided to leave his castle of comfort to mingle with his lowlife former associates?” Jackson’s tone was vicious, unrelenting.

“I never–.”

“Did your conscience finally catch up with you when you found out your _former friends_ had been disowned by their families and left to fend for themselves with nothing but the clothes on their back?”

“What? I don’t even–.”

“Or did you come to also tell me that I’m disgusting and a disgrace to my family and everyone I know because of the person I chose to love?”

The question brought Jinyoung’s mind to Mark and before his better sense could stop himself, the name slipped out of his mouth. “Yi En, he–.”

“YI EN IS DEAD!”

Jackson was shaking, the outburst causing his entire figure to tremble uncontrollably, hands balled into fists at his side, eyes bulging, face scarlet red in anger.

“Yi En…no.” Jackson was heaving with emotions. “ _Mark_ is dead.”

Jinyoung’s hands itched to reach out, to pull Jackson into a hug, a phantom memory of the warm comfort their friendship had provided urging him on. But he held back. Whatever had happened in the two decades they had been apart was not salvageable by one mere hug.

“I know,” Jinyoung said softly, instead. “I know about Yi–about Mark.”

Belatedly, Jinyoung realized this was the worst thing he could say. Jackson’s eyes when they locked onto his, spelled abhorrence and deeply-ingrained resentment.

“You knew about Mark and you didn’t even bother to come to his funeral?”

Jinyoung stared, horrified. “I didn’t mean–.”

“Did you even care about him, Jinyoung? About us?” Jackson heaved a deep sigh. “What am I saying? Of course you never cared. You made that very clear since we were kids. Disposed of us just like everybody else did eventually.”

Jackson was closing the door behind him and locking it, ignoring the dumbfounded Jinyoung still standing awkwardly in front of him, too afraid to move or speak for fear of angering Jackson again.

“You left us years ago, don’t bother coming back.”

He shuffled past Jinyoung, shoulder bumping into his chest to give room for his departure, footsteps treading heavily away down the hallway. Desperation sank into Jinyoung and it pained him to be so close to his friend but so, so far away.

“Jia Er–.”

Jackson halted in his steps, turning furiously around. “ _Don’t_ call me that.”

Jinyoung would have preferred he had yelled. The cold, steady fury sank like venom into his bones.

“ _Never_ call me that ever again,” Jackson said, fuming. “And _never_ come back.”

Whatever Jinyoung had expected out of his coming, it clearly wasn’t this. But he couldn’t really say he was fully surprised, not when he and Jackson have been apart for so long. A heartfelt and tear-jerking reunion was never even a possibility Jinyoung would have thought held any likelihood anyway. Nevertheless, he didn’t think he warranted such deep-seated hatred and loathing. At the very least, Jinyoung would have been prepared for awkward indifference.

But clearly, Jackson hated him to the core. And Jinyoung had a feeling this went far beyond his unannounced departure during their childhood.

***

“Why would you do that?”

Jaebeom and Youngjae turned to the source of the bewildered, timid voice, a yip from a bundle of white in the speaker’s arms occupying the question.

“Mark-hyung….” Youngjae looked slightly panic-stricken.

“Why would you do that?” Mark repeated his question, stepping closer to the two surrounding the table with the glass jar, the scene of Jackson walking away from Jinyoung still reflected in the shape of the glass. They didn’t know how long Mark had been standing there, how much he’d seen, but clearly he had witnessed enough to garner such a reaction.

“Jaebeom-hyung, he….” For lack of a better explanation, Youngjae turned his gaze to his older brother, even unable to properly comprehend the reasoning behind this use of his first petal.

“I thought it would be a good time for Jinyoung to reunite with Jackson,” Jaebeom said.

Sharp eyes turned on Jaebeom. “Jackson doesn’t need Jinyoung.”

“You don’t know that,” Jaebeom countered.

“Don’t act like you know anything about Jackson,” Mark spit out. “We’re not Jinyoung’s charity case.”

Jaebeom stood up, the insinuation at Jinyoung’s less-than-sincere intents rifling him up. He stood a good few inches taller than Mark but it did nothing to deter Mark’s determined gaze of angry defiance.

“Jinyoung cared about you and Jackson. He still does. He missed you, even if he never said it. He kept a small box of things from your childhood: pebbles, bracelets, cards, and letters. So many letters he wrote as a kid, for you and Jackson. Letters he had never been able to send out. Jinyoung doesn’t know but I’ve read those letters and I know he still reads them from time to time. I _know_ he still cares about you two and I _know_ he thinks it’s always too late to try to find you again.” Jaebeom took a deep breath. “I _know_ it would _kill_ Jinyoung if he ever lived his life knowing he never found his two best friends ever again.”

Something flitted in Mark’s eyes, similar to a spark of hope that had long died amongst the ashes of defeat and fatigue. It was out as quickly as it had been ignited and Jaebeom saw nothing more than Mark’s pitch-black, lifeless pupils once more.

“Well it’s too late now anyway, isn’t it?” Mark said. “I’m dead and Jackson is broken beyond repair. You used up a perfectly good petal for nothing.”

“It’s not for nothing,” Jaebeom’s conviction was strong.

“YES, IT IS!” Mark yelled, causing Coco to struggle out of his grip and jump to Youngjae’s awaiting lap. “YOU COULD HAVE USED THAT PETAL TO REMIND JINYOUNG OF YOU, TO REMIND HIM THAT YOU LOVE HIM, TO SIGNAL TO HIM THAT YOU MISS HIM TOO, THAT HE IS YOUR WHOLE WORLD AND IT PAINS YOU JUST AS MUCH TO BE APART LIKE THIS!”

Anyone with a clear mind could clearly understand that the outburst served much more to expose Mark’s inner emotional turmoil than they did to question and attack Jaebeom’s actions. Anyone but Mark could see.

Jaebeom kept himself calm. “Jinyoung doesn’t need me to tell him those things. He already knows.” He paused, catching the widening of Mark’s eyes. “And it’s not what he needs right now.”

Seething and seemingly irked that Jaebeom responded in such a contrast, Mark gave Jaebeom another scathing look, his voice returning to their deathly venomous steadiness. “Jinyoung left us. Nothing has changed. He doesn’t care about Jackson. He doesn’t care about me.”

Picking Coco out of Youngjae’s lap, Mark stormed off, leaving no room for Jaebeom to have the last say. Neither Jaebeom nor Youngjae missed the way his eyes lingered on the glass jar, though, at the image of Jinyoung bending in front of a gravestone and bowing his head in both respect and grief. They all knew that he wasn’t at Jaebeom’s grave.

***

With some luck (one that he didn’t think was possible after already running on immense luck managing to track down Jackson), Jinyoung found the local grave where Mark had been put to rest. It took a moment of wandering around before he found it, many of the neighbouring gravestones quite sadly equally new and of much younger people. The grave was barren, no doubt flowers being too much of a luxury for Jackson to afford. The inscription on the headstone was minimal, nothing more than ‘Mark’ capitalized and the date of his death. Jinyoung’s heart hurt to think that the simplicity also came as a result of restricted costs, but that was more comforting than the thought that Mark had died still bitter and in denial of his roots and past.

Jinyoung had brought a small bouquet of red and yellow zinnias with him. Jaebeom’s funeral had ingrained the meaning of flowers into Jinyoung’s mind, mourners constantly going into lengthy explanations for the bouquets they brought. Zinnias symbolized thoughts of friends, something a lot of Jaebeom’s acquaintances had placed at his resting place. Jinyoung could not think of a more apt symbolism of his current feelings.

The bouquet was not the only thing he brought, though. In his pocket he held a small plastic package of seeds. Blue rose seeds. They were rare, highly difficult to come by, but they grew well, and grew resistant. They were Jinyoung’s favourite and to see them bloom on his late friend’s grave felt not only appropriate, but also the best tribute he could give.

Only when the seed had been planted close to the headstone and Jinyoung had made sure the soil was moist enough to allow it to grow, did Jinyoung finally let himself land seated on the soil, fingers gripping the solid stone, eyes closed shut as the tears began to flow.

“I’m sorry, Yi En…I’m sorry.”

Jinyoung’s streams of apologies, his words of reminiscence of their past, his wishes for the friendship that could have been, did not go unheard nor unseen. A calico shorthair sat nearby, yellow eyes trained on Jinyoung’s trembling form, soft paws kneading the ground, poised to approach him. The cat would keep Jinyoung company for the remainder of his stay.

***

That afternoon was an emotional roller coaster unlike Jinyoung had experienced. At least not since Jaebeom’s death. He would have let himself wallow in remorse for the realization that he had lost Mark even without his knowing, but something about that didn’t sit right with him. Like Jaebeom, Mark was gone. There was nothing Jinyoung could do to reverse that, no matter how badly he wanted to have had at least one chance to reconcile their friendship in their adulthood. But Jackson was still there. He still had a chance with Jackson. If Jackson would let him have that chance.

He returned to his apartment still with the image of Jackson’s rage and substance-abused form and the stab of memory of Mark’s grave, but Jinyoung, for the first time in months, laid down on his and Jaebeom’s bed. Despite all his intents of evading the space he had only intimately shared with Jaebeom, Jinyoung felt he needed the comfort, the familiarity, the memories that lying on their bed would undoubtedly invoke. When he let his sight rest, his other senses compensatively heightened and he could almost feel the dent in the bed that Jaebeom used to occupy, he could almost smell the soft sweetness and spices of tanginess of Jaebeom’s scent, he could almost taste the lingering aftertaste of strawberry almost permanently imprinted to Jaebeom.

_I miss you_.

If Jaebeom were here, he’d know how to comfort Jinyoung. If Jaebeom were with him, he’d know how to ease the cacophony of thoughts in Jinyoung’s mind. If Jaebeom were still by his side, he’d know how to untangle the storm of feelings confusing Jinyoung and help him set his next course of action.

_Help me, Beommie. I don’t know what to do._

As if to answer his call, his mind suddenly recalled the calico he had met at Mark’s grave. The assumed stray had approached Jinyoung of its own accord and sidled up to his side, nudging and rubbing its head on Jinyoung every time he emitted choked sobs. He hadn’t thought too much of it then, too immersed in his grief for his old friend, and the cat had disappeared just before he rose to leave for home. But it struck him as odd for a stray to act as such, more so towards himself who had never quite been a favourite of animals in general (quite the contrary, it took quite the effort for Jinyoung to gain the trust and affection of animals, stray or otherwise). That character had always fallen on Jaebeom.

_Jaebeom_.

Jinyoung’s eyes shot open.

_Jaebeommie?_

A moment of frozen silence, Jinyoung’s body tense and unmoving as though awaiting for some sort of affirming sign to come to him. None did, of course, and Jinyoung almost laughed at his own foolish delusion that the cat had somehow been a manifestation of Jaebeom’s outreach to him from the afterlife. Coincidences happened, that was nothing new. And Jinyoung couldn’t dwell on unfounded thoughts that did nothing but raise his hopes for the improbable, the impossible.

Jinyoung let out a deep breath, settling back into the mattress with closed eyes, feeling the familiar comfort wash over him once more.

What he could focus on was Jackson and the fact that he had managed to find his childhood friend once again, even if under quite dire circumstances. He’d lost Jaebeom. He and Jackson had lost Mark. Maybe it really was time for he and Jackson to realize that they still hadn’t lost each other. Maybe it was time for Jinyoung to push forward for the friendship he had long deserted, no matter how unwilling Jackson seemed. Jinyoung would fight for Jackson.

He knew, it was what Jaebeom would have wanted.

***

“Hyung, that was risqué.”

Jaebeom let out a strangled breath. “I know. I’m sorry, but–.”

“Jinyoung-hyung needed it. I know.” Youngjae gave him a comforting smile. “But a _cat_? Real original, hyung.”

Jaebeom gazed at the resting Jinyoung, somewhat relieved that he had finally succumbed to sleeping in their bed again. It was a step forward.

“I should have known it would be too much for Jinyoung.”

Youngjae raised his eyebrows. “He lost you a month ago and he just found out that one of his childhood best friends is dead, while the other has alcohol and drug problems. I’m surprised Jinyoung-hyung hasn’t lost it himself.”

“You underestimate Jinyoungie,” Jaebeom said fondly.

“No, I think _you_ underestimate how much Jinyoung-hyung lost when _you_ died, hyung,” Youngjae said pointedly, pushing a finger at Jaebeom’s shoulder.

Jaebeom tilted his head and frowned in confusion at Youngjae.

“Hyung, you forget that you mean _the world_ to Jinyoung-hyung.” Youngjae’s tone had softened, losing that note of accusation and turning into one more of patient explanation. “You forget that when you first met Jinyoung, he was indecisive, he was petty, he was overanalytical, he lacked confidence, and he kept everything bottled up. But Jinyoung-hyung has changed so much since then and that is all because of you, because you stayed by his side throughout everything.”

Youngjae gave his older brother’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.

“I know you miss him too, hyung,” he said. “I know you want to believe that Jinyoung isn’t having a hard time because _you_ want to convince yourself that this isn’t hard for you.”

Jaebeom opened his mouth to speak, but it took several tries before he could croak out actual words, emotions getting the better of him. “Jinyoung can’t keep being sad.”

“I know, hyung. I know.” Youngjae nodded. “But you need to cut him and yourself some slack. It’s OK to be sad.”

An onslaught of images of Jinyoung engulfed Jaebeom’s thoughts, a tender kiss, a warm smile, strong arms, and a feeling of immeasurable calmness. The reminiscing almost took Jaebeom’s breath away.

“Jinyoung said that.”

Youngjae pursed his lips. “I know. It was a month after my funeral.”

Jaebeom raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been watching us all this time?”

Youngjae gave him a sheepish grin. “I don’t exactly have an extensive job description and the afterlife is, well, for eternity.”

Jaebeom gave him a disapproving look that was contradicted by the accepting grin he sported. “Yeah, constantly watching your brother and his partner from a secret peephole from the afterlife isn’t creepy at all.”

“I was looking out for my hyung,” he said indignantly, aiming a kick at Jaebeom, “but clearly he’s still as much of an idiot as he always has been.”

Jaebeom laughed, dodging Youngjae’s attempts at violence. “I was fine. You didn’t have to worry about me.”

“Yeah, because you had Jinyoung-hyung with you,” Youngjae pointed out.

Jaebeom blinked, sobering up from his laughter. The realization was infiltrating his mind and he could see Youngjae’s expression soften even more at this.

“You and Jinyoung-hyung had each other,” he said. “You were strong because you were together.”

Eyes distant, Jaebeom suddenly felt the leaden weight of their separation drop heavy into his heart, the image of a miserably crying Jinyoung at Mark’s grave blinding his mind and clawing at his chest like a wild animal ferociously attacking his breathing capabilities.

“Oh God,” Jaebeom said, dropping his head, fingers tugging at his hair.

Youngjae pulled his hands away from his head lest he hurt himself, letting his brother grip him to the point of pain. Jaebeom may have been the one to pass away, but he wasn’t the one who had been given the opportunity to grieve. Not his death, no, he’d long accepted that fate the day he fell ill, but, as Youngjae had pointed out, his parting from Jinyoung. That initial pain upon the realization of being in separate worlds from Jinyoung returned, but this time, without the distraction of novelty from meeting new people, discovering new otherworldly magic, and being driven by determination to right some wrongs, it hit full force. That early desire and hope to keep their bond alive from different planes upon finding the glass jar and knowing what it was for, suddenly overwhelming him.

_Jinyoung. Jinyoung. Jinyoung._

“Hyung?”

He could feel Youngjae’s thumb stroking the back of his hand and when he looked to see the comforting gesture, he found that his sight was blurred with tears.

“Do you want to use another petal?”

Jaebeom looked up, heart and mind still drowning in yearning for his living lover.

“Can I?”

Youngjae smiled softly. “Of course.”

A petal shone bright aquamarine before Jaebeom’s eyes, his sight and mind was suddenly vacuumed into its blinding core. This was different. A much more distinctly personal experience than the first couple of times Youngjae had let him use the petals where Jaebeom had simply watched them burn into light and being. This time, the petal seemed to dissolve _into_ him.

Disoriented from the feeling of having _fallen into_ the light, Jaebeom didn’t realize when he was able to perceive his surroundings again that he was somehow back at his old apartment. Except that it clearly could not be his old apartment, nor did it seem real if the hazy edges and overly pastel highlights were any indication. Was this a dream?

“Jaebeom?”

Jaebeom’s heart did the metaphorical skip of a beat. _Could it be?_

“Jaebeommie?”

There was no mistaking that voice, no mistaking the familiar warmth radiating from that presence. And most certainly not the crease-filled smile that greeted him.

“Jinyoungie.”

The hug that came wasn’t unexpected and neither were the pecks and kisses that followed. But there was something ingenuine about them, not from the sincerity of their feelings, no, but a foreign element that served as an inkling reminder that somehow, someway, they knew, they understood, that this wasn’t real.

“Am I dreaming?” Jinyoung asked, eyes alight with tears, just brimming but not yet spilled over. He held Jaebeom’s face with the desperate hope of a heartbroken man.

“I think we both are,” Jaebeom said, leaning into the touch, aware of the weight his words held in the face of this blessed reunion.

Jinyoung laughed, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll take as many dreams with you as I can get.”

_I miss you too much to care that this isn’t real_.

“I’m sorry, honey,” Jaebeom said, head hanging as both his hands clutched tightly onto Jinyoung’s. “I’m sorry I left you alone.”

Jinyoung rubbed his thumbs against Jaebeom’s cheeks in comfort. “It’s okay, baby. It might not have been forever, but our time together was the best it could have been.” He ducked down to meet Jaebeom’s dropped gaze. “You’re watching over me, aren’t you?”

Blinking at the knowing smile Jinyoung was giving him, Jaebeom looked up, grimacing a little at what he knew Youngjae was witnessing.

“Are the higher-ups forbidding you from telling me things?” Jinyoung inquired.

“Not the higher-ups, no.” Jaebeom shook his head. “Youngjae.”

Jinyoung’s eyes lit up at the mention of Jaebeom’s younger brother, gazing upwards himself. “Oh so he’s a big shot person now, is he?”

“The biggest,” Jaebeom said, sending a wink to the skies.

“Is Yi En with you as well?”

The question should have been anticipated, but for them to suddenly speak of Mark and Jackson so casually, the topic never being brought up for longer than a wistful, sentimental look from Jinyoung, put the both of them a little out of sorts. There was an implicit mutual understanding that Jinyoung having located Jackson and learned about Mark’s fate at such a time after Jaebeom’s death felt too calculated to be coincidental.

Jaebeom gave a minute nod in response. The affirmation was all Jinyoung needed and he didn’t push the subject.

“You look good,” Jinyoung commented, instead, fingers grazing Jaebeom’s face, his loose strands, the earrings that hung heavy on his lobe.

“Was I hideous?” he joked.

Jinyoung didn’t miss a beat. “Before I met you, yes. But I managed to clean you up nicely and make every single person jealous that I have a super hot partner.”

“Says the man who wore baggy culottes for the first month we were dating,” Jaebeom teased.

“Is that why you were so eager to get me out of them?” It was a tease, playful and flirty. It felt like nothing had ever changed and they were simply having one of their lazier days.

Jaebeom chuckled, warm and soothing. “That and because I wanted to show you just how much I cared about you, how deep my feelings ran…how much I loved you.”

Jinyoung’s smile dissolved into a small frown, his head tilting as if to observe Jaebeom in a much more detailed light. “Loved?” he repeated.

The insecurity lay clear in Jinyoung’s change of expression and voice, despite there not being a reason for it. But Jaebeom was attuned to it, accustomed to Jinyoung needing that assurance, more so now than ever if he was honest with himself. He kissed the depths of Jinyoung’s palm, affection and longing hopefully transmitted in the lip-to-skin contact. He could hear Jinyoung’s soft gasp.

“You know I’ll always love you, sweetheart,” he whispered into the palm, eyes slowly finding Jinyoung’s as he let his cheek rest there instead. “I love you so much. Nothing can ever change that. Not even…this.”

_Not even death_.

The glisten of tears in Jinyoung’s eyes liberated its army of rivulets freely. Jaebeom calmly wiped the stream with years of practiced ease, allowing his thumb to linger with a soft pressure to Jinyoung’s cheeks just that little bit longer in a way that he knew put Jinyoung at ease. He was a little startled when Jinyoung started doing the same to him, his thumb coming away just as wet as Jaebeom’s.

“It’s hard without you, Beommie,” Jinyoung confessed so quietly it was almost drowned in the sound of cascading tears.

“I miss you too, Nyeong,” Jaebeom admitted. “So, so much.”

There was a kiss, deep, sweet, meaningful, and heavy with silent promises, weak hopes, and yearning hearts. A kiss that they shared for each other, for one another only, something the two of them needed because they both knew their worlds could no longer meet, their hearts could no longer feel the beat of the other.

The devastation their faces mirrored broke both their hearts all over again.

“Will I remember this when I wake up?” Jinyoung asked, hopeful but without conviction.

“I don’t know,” Jaebeom said truthfully, though if he had to guess, the answer was unlikely favourable.

They both knew the clock was ticking on their borrowed time and by the darkening of their surroundings, it seemed it was coming to a close very soon.

“I love you, Jaebeom,” Jinyoung whispered desperately onto his lips. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Jaebeom said, “with all my heart.”

Jinyoung’s eyes locked onto Jaebeom’s. “We’ll be together again someday, Jaebeom. When my time comes. Wait for me.”

Jaebeom allowed himself a sad smile. “With open arms.”

The setting around them darkened and just as abruptly as Jaebeom had felt himself being pulled into the light, he felt himself being thrown into a pit of darkness. When he opened his eyes, Youngjae was before him, looking at him with compassion and empathy. He didn’t hesitate to bring his older brother into a cocooning hug when Jaebeom broke into uncontrollable tears afterwards.

The glass jar saw into the living realm, into Jaebeom and Jinyoung’s real apartment, into the bedroom Jinyoung still lay asleep in, tucked underneath the blankets. A solitary tear trickled down his cheek, its journey gradual as though intent on making the best of its descent before it died into the corners of Jinyoung’s lips. Lips that, diverging from the tear, upturned ever so slightly into a smile, one that spoke of comfort and relief amidst all the pain.

*** 

It had been such a long time since Jinyoung had slept so soundly, having stayed on constant half-alert during Jaebeom’s illness and a simple inability to dim his thoughts enough after his death, that having done so that one night left him a little unsettled when he awoke. That and the fact that for the first time in months, something close to calm contentment set in his chest. Flashes of pastel colours, a tight hug, and familiar lingering taste on his lips hit him, disappearing just as quickly as they had come.

He had had a dream. Something he felt like he should remember, but just like any other person trying hard to cling onto the details of a past dream, they trickled faster than droplets of water in cupped hands. Something told Jinyoung that it was better that he didn’t remember.

And so he could only focus on the things he _could_ remember. Like Jackson. And the determination he’d built to extend a lifeline to his old friend. God forbid he lose another important person in his life. Not if Jinyoung could help it.

It was with this resolve that Jinyoung came, relentlessly, day after day, at whatever hour he could spare time away from work, to Jackson’s place. At times he would be met with a shout of rejection from behind the door, angrily sending Jinyoung away with a few choice, censor-worthy words. Other times, Jinyoung would be able to catch Jackson as he either exited or entered, trying to speak as much as he could before Jackson either locked the door behind him or ran away without a single word (Jinyoung felt it wouldn’t take too much effort to run after Jackson and catch up with him, but he didn’t think it would help his case to start a chasing marathon every single time).

It was a true testament of Jinyoung’s sheer grit (or maybe hardheadedness), that his visits became less about Jackson shutting him out entirely, but more about Jackson simply being exasperated at his constant presence. Perhaps the accompaniment of food that Jinyoung had started bringing two weeks after he had begun this endeavor (after a particular meeting when Jinyoung had noticed that Jackson had looked immensely underweight, sunken cheeks and thin stature still noticeable underneath his clothes) helped his efforts. It reminded Jinyoung, nostalgically, of how easily it was to placate Jaebeom with his favourite dishes.

By the third week, Jinyoung and Jackson had reached some sort of truce: less yelling, less running, less evasion. They communicated through acknowledging nods (on Jackson’s part) and small smiles (from Jinyoung). If Jackson had any problem with the small boxes of saved memorabilia that Jinyoung had begun to include in his food packages, he didn’t say anything. Jinyoung’s heart was filled with hope.

Therefore, it came as a complete and utter shock when, nearing a month into their progressing acquaintanceship, Jinyoung found the food he had brought the other day (bulgogi kimbap and vegetable fritters) lumped together on the floor of the wall opposite Jackson’s door. From the marks on the wall, it as evident the food had been thrown against it.

Unsure of what to make of this, Jinyoung gave the door a tentative knock.

“Jackson?”

After hearing close to nothing of Jackson’s voice, it startled Jinyoung when the gruff yell filtered through the door.

“GO AWAY!”

Jinyoung hesitated, fists still hanging in mid-air. “Jackson?” he tried again tentatively.

“I SAID _GO AWAY_!”

He was about to knock a second time and call out for a third time when the door swung open and Jackson’s bloodshot, infuriated face was suddenly mere centimeters away from his. It reminded Jinyoung too much of the first time they had met that he wondered if the past month or so of progress hadn’t simply been a hallucination.

“Go the fuck away, Jinyoung. Don’t _ever_ come back.”

Jackson looked down to the paper bag in Jinyoung’s left hand, grabbing it before Jinyoung could react in any way, and throwing it at the exact same stained wall, its contents gathering as a pile together with yesterday’s kimbap and fritters. The door slammed shut in Jinyoung’s face.

Stunned and confused, but undeterred, Jinyoung continued to return, food still in hand. They were no longer been thrown to the wall (now cleaned, thankfully), but they also showed no signs of being touched at all. Each day Jinyoung would come, he’d find the same packaged food sitting in almost the exact same condition, placed in front of Jackson’s door. Unlike the last time, Jinyoung had not once run into Jackson, no matter what time of day he managed to find time to drop by. It almost seemed as though Jackson never left his apartment.

Nearing the fifth day of this odd new development, Jinyoung, already beginning to fall into a routine of simply leaving the food at the foot of the door, was surprised to see a sliver of light shine through to the opposite wall of Jackson’s apartment. For the first time since he had been here, Jinyoung found Jackson’s door open of its own accord.

Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to step into someone’s living quarters uninvited (technically it wasn’t trespassing if Jinyoung knew the person, right?), but Jinyoung was too curious and intrigued to allow himself a moment to rethink his actions.

“Jackson?” he tried to call out softly, afraid the knee-jerk reaction he would get was more yelling.

The place stayed quiet. Eerily so. It wasn’t the kind of quiet of a residence void of its occupant. It was the kind of quiet that forestalled something horribly, horribly wrong.

Tentatively going further into the cramped place, Jinyoung was momentarily distracted by the small desk sitting in one corner near an unmade bed piled with clothes. There, amidst the glass, syringes, bottles, and questionable powder and liquids, were the small gift boxes Jinyoung had included in his past food deliveries, each one stacked neatly and clearly the most well-kept items on that desk. There was a wide berth between them and anything else sitting on that surface, as though the distance had deliberately been put in place to keep the boxes safe from any substance contamination. Jinyoung had been wary about handing over these items to Jackson, worried he might dispose or destroy them in anger which would leave Jinyoung with close to nothing of his childhood memories with his two best friends. But it seemed to be the only way to communicate his feelings, his extension of friendship to Jackson when words were no longer heard. It seemed to have been well worth the gamble.

One box had been left open, though, one of the larger ones and more recent than some of the others. Inside, unfolded, sat the same picture that Jinyoung had found that one afternoon, the one that had compelled him to start searching for his friends, the one that had brought him to this place and initiated this entire effort. The picture of the three of them.

The sound of something wet and heavy hitting a tiled floor broke through Jinyoung’s attention. It was only then that the subtle sound of running water was evident, clearly coming from the bathroom.

“Jackson?” Jinyoung tried again, not really expecting an answer.

Whatever Jinyoung had expected, nothing could prepare him for the sight that greeted him.

***

A drastic turn of events had occurred.

Jaebeom had taken to himself after breaking down in front of Youngjae, no longer hovering over his little brother as he executed his task in overseeing the living world. Though this meant infinitely less exposure to witnessing Jinyoung’s sorrows and the things out of Jaebeom’s reach and control, it also meant more downtime to mourn their severance. And mourn Jaebeom did.

It wasn’t so much of him grieving his own death as is was feeling the full brunt of _not being with Jinyoung_. As positive an outlook on life as Jaebeom had, he would be lying if he said that he hadn’t felt like giving up at least one point in his life. On his worst days, this meant thoughts of applying for life insurance and staging his own murder to ensure Youngjae had enough resources to continue living. On the best of days, he would simply resort to the common distractions of alcohol and nicotine.

He’d been somewhere in the middle of the spectrum when he’d met Jinyoung (perhaps a little more the negative end of that spectrum, if he was being entirely honest). It had been the result of yet another yelling match with his boss about the unfair deductions being made to his hourly pay simply because he gave away leftovers from the restaurant to the stray cats that frequently occupied the small alley near the back exit of the establishment. Any other time and he would have let it go, but as things stood, he was already behind on Youngjae’s high school tuition. He couldn’t imagine trying to find another part-time job to make up for the financial loss with his already dwindling hours left to sleep.

So Jaebeom had taken to visiting his favourite convenience store by the Han River, treating himself, albeit a little guiltily, to a hot bowl of instant ramyeon and a bottle of their cheapest liquor, hoping Youngjae wouldn’t ask too many questions when he came home a little later than usual. The pack of cigarettes weighed down on his conscience a lot more, considering it cost more than both his food and beverage combined. He was starting to wonder how much he could get for his kidney.

There were two reasons Jaebeom had an affinity for that convenience store: their constant stock of his favourite ramyeon brand and flavour as well as the late night company of street cats milling around with whom the store staff seemed to have had developed a mutual respect. And so the cats would be allowed to stay outside, never entering the store, having access to scraps and bits of food customers were willing to spare them. Jaebeom was one such loyal customer.

On a weeknight, patrons tended to be sparse, mandated gatherings and overtime occupying their leisure time. But that night, when Jaebeom walked out of the convenience store, expecting nothing but feline company, saw a young man already bending over his seat to feed one of the regular strays with a piece of dried squid.

“Come on, have this. Didn’t you meow because you were hungry?” the young man was saying, cajoling the cat with the squid right in front of its mouth.

Something warm trickled through Jaebeom’s chest at the sight.

“She’s not actually hungry. She just wants pats,” Jaebeom said before he could stop himself.

The young man startled out of his concentrated attempts at making the cat eat his proffered snack, turning wide, guilty eyes on Jaebeom, still holding his ramyeon in one hand and liquor in the other. That warm feeling in Jaebeom’s chest turned into a stream and suddenly he felt a flush beginning to bloom in his cheeks.

“Is she yours?” the young man asked, having gotten over the initial surprise of being caught and beginning to relax in his seat, a smile slowly coming over his face.

Jaebeom pretended to ignore the way his heart thumped an extra loud beat at the sight of that smile. His grip on his ramyeon certainly tightened.

“In a manner of speaking,” Jaebeom managed to say, surprising even himself, because his chest definitely felt too constricted for words. “She, uh, she comes by here often.”

The young man tilted his head, seeming to take Jaebeom’s presence into consideration. The scrutiny made Jaebeom acutely aware of his haggard appearance, the pressure of the day reflected in his outer appearance.

“I guess that means you come here just as often?” the young man asked. “Am I in your designated seat? Is that why you haven’t moved from where you’re standing?”

Blinking, Jaebeom looked at the sitting person, down to his unmade ramyeon, back up to the person still watching him. There was a moment where they simply stared at each other, eyes locked for a reason unbeknownst to either of them, but that tightening in Jaebeom’s chest warmed his heart and settled his feelings into something comfortable and an indescribable desire for selfless affection.

The meow of the stray broke their gaze.

The two of them broke out into soft laughter and their attention was divided once more. Jaebeom made his way to the ramyeon station to start making his late night meal, and the stranger went back to giving the stray attention, offering pats rather than food this time.

“Do you mind if I join you?” Jaebeom asked, steaming container of ramyeon in hand.

The stranger’s smile only seemed to brighten. “Not at all.”

The stranger sat up straight, eyes unwaveringly watching Jaebeom settle his ramyeon down, followed by the bottle and pack of cigarettes he had in hand. He didn’t look judgmental, but there was definitely a level of disappointment flitting in that gaze. It almost made Jaebeom want to throw everything away.

“Rough day?” the question came.

Jaebeom shrugged, digging into his ramyeon. “Definitely not the best.”

“Would it be better if I let you have some alone time?”

Jaebeom looked up at this, cheeks round and full, eyes equally as such. He managed to tell himself to swallow before he replied. “I wouldn’t have asked to join you if I wanted alone time.”

The stranger blushed, embarrassed and flustered for the first time that evening. Jaebeom wanted to capture that memory in his mind forever. He couldn’t remember the last time he had actively wanted to keep a positive image in his memory that wasn’t related to anything his little brother did.

“I’m Jinyoung, by the way,” the stranger introduced himself.

“Jaebeom,” he returned, ramyeon soup escaping his mouth as he said his name.

Jinyoung chuckled, seemingly automatically reaching out with a paper napkin to wipe away the excess soup. They both froze at the contact, their eyes locked again on each other. Jaebeom felt his heart lurch in despair when Jinyoung pulled his hand away quickly.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, before Jinyoung could stutter out a flustered apology.

Jinyoung nodded bashfully, his ears betraying his gathered composure by remaining bright red. They didn’t talk for the remainder of the evening, Jaebeom eating his ramyeon dutifully in several mouthfuls, Jinyoung still spoiling the stray with scratches and rubs. Jaebeom’s alcohol and cigarettes remained untouched.

“I should go,” Jinyoung announced when Jaebeom’s ramyeon had been devoured and their time had turned into Jaebeom simply watching Jinyoung interact with the stray.

Jaebeom watched Jinyoung give the cat one last scratch, apologizing that he had to leave, and standing from his seat. Something desperate clawed at Jaebeom’s throat and he found himself standing as well without him realizing it.

“Jinyoung, I live a very hard life,” Jaebeom said abruptly.

Jinyoung blinked, watching Jaebeom, their gazes even with their heights equal. “Okay…?”

Jaebeom shook his head as though to clear his thoughts and better plan his words. He thought he saw Jinyoung’s eyes widen at that gesture, an expression similar to the one he had when with the cat adorning his face. But Jaebeom put that aside, words he needed to say at the tip of his tongue.

“What I mean is...I want to live my life without regrets,” Jaebeom confessed. “And it would be my first ever regret if I let you walk away without asking you out on a date.”

He didn’t think Jinyoung’s eyes could get any wider nor rounder, but they did exactly that. At that point, shame had gone out the window and Jaebeom wanted so desperately to not let this man get away, the man who had turned his otherwise horrible night into something that he wanted to cherish.

“We only just met,” Jinyoung said. It wasn’t a rejection, though.

“I don’t trust chance enough to let you go without knowing I’ll see you again,” Jaebeom said with conviction.

“You don’t know anything about me besides my name,” Jinyoung continued.

“I’d like to,” Jaebeom said, adding, “if you’d let me.”

Jinyoung watched him, searching his entire face for something, some sort of a facade, or a pretense that Jaebeom’s offer was anything but sincere. He had nothing but sincerity to give to Jinyoung. That moment and for however many moments Jinyoung would let him have.

“Will you promise not to take out your hardships on alcohol and nicotine?” Jinyoung asked, eyeing the items still laying, untouched, on the plastic table.

It was an odd offer to make, the exchange for a date seemingly inequal and out of context, but the fact that Jinyoung had a bargain in mind that could only be interpreted for Jaebeom’s best interest only solidified Jaebeom’s conviction that this man, this Jinyoung, was a person he needed, he wanted in his life.

“Only if you promise to meet me here for a date tomorrow evening, same time as tonight,” Jaebeom said.

Jinyoung smiled. “Ramyeon date it is then,” he confirmed. “See you tomorrow, Jaebeom.”

Jaebeom had to fight the urge to go after Jinyoung as he walked away, to wrap him in his arms and never let go, to tell him of all the sappy promises they made in the movies, of forever, of meant-to-bes, of happily ever afters. But he resisted, satisfying himself with the pause Jinyoung made a few steps away to turn back and throw Jaebeom a wide smile, shy little wave sending him on his way.

It wouldn’t be until much later in the relationship that Jinyoung told him he had felt the same way about not wanting to let go.

It was this story of their fated meeting that Jaebeom told Mark several days later. Given that their last conversation had been anything but amicable, Jaebeom had been surprised Mark had approached him with a much more accepting stance, a more accommodating and even compassionate one. He couldn’t fathom what series of events had taken place to trigger Mark’s change of behavior, but he accepted the friendly company without complaint, letting himself use Mark’s proffered metaphorical and literal shoulder to cry and vent on.

There was a foreign comfort there that Jaebeom hadn’t felt in a long, long while. It wasn’t so much of having a partner or being with his little brother, but Mark’s presence felt like the soothing elder figure Jaebeom never had in his life: an older brother he could lean on. For the very first time in his life, not only did he feel like the weight on his shoulders had been shared, but he felt them figuratively lifted, and Jaebeom felt he could be the young man who was denied his youth, having been forced to mature much too early for his age.

“Thank you,” Jaebeom said, letting Mark still hold him and rub at his back like a parent comforting their child.

“It was selfish of me to think that you and Jinyoung had it easy,” Mark muttered. “I saw you break down after that dream visit. You must really love him.”

Jaebeom didn’t miss the was Mark hadn’t stated that in past tense. The truth was as present as they were deceased.

“I honestly don’t think I would have survived without him,” Jaebeom confessed. “I’ve never told Youngjae just how Jinyoung literally saved me, but I think he knows.”

At this, Mark gave an uncharacteristic chuckle. “Yeah, he has that saviour complex, whether he realizes it or not. He always winds up finding the most broken people and he has a way of healing them.”

Jaebeom pulled himself out of Mark’s hug, looking at him seriously. “He still cares about you and Jia Er, you know.”

Mark nodded. “I know,” he said. “Why else would he have persisted this hard to help Jackson even after knowing just how fucked up we are?” This time, his chuckle was ironic. “Although I can’t help but feel he’s also doing this for you.”

Jaebeom blinked. “Me?”

“Didn’t Youngjae say? You and Jinyoung were strong because you were together. He needs you as much as you need him,” Mark elaborated calmly, patiently. “I don’t doubt he’s reaching out to Jackson because he still cares, but a big part of it is also because he understands…he _knows_ it’s what you would have wanted him to do.”

Jaebeom stared at Mark, the expression he received in return not condescending, just calmly somber. In the time Jaebeom had been there and interacted with Mark, the only emotion he’d seen out of the man was explosive wrath, clearly born out of years of frustration and hardships he had no healthy way of letting out. It barely surprised him that Mark remained just as stoic even as they seemed to be building a better, much more companiable relationship.

“The last time you saw Jinyoung was…over a decade ago. How is it that it seems you know him better than I do?” Jaebeom asked, a little more on the amazed spectrum than he was bitter that his knowledge of JInyoung was proven limited.

Mark shook his head. “I _don’t_ know him better than you do,” he countered. “At least not in all the ways he has grown up as an adult. But I _did_ know him as a child. I know the young, fragile Jinyoung who had more love to give than he was willing to receive, I know the Jinyoung that looked up to Jackson and I like we were his heros, even if we were probably more messed up than he could ever imagine. I know the Jinyoung that, even when he tries his hardest to show he’s independent and mature, he is still the young boy from a small town who questions his own beliefs and depends on the support of those around him to keep him grounded and focused.”

A rush of memories flashed in Jaebeom’s mind: Jinyoung always softly re-confirming Jaebeom’s answers to every question he asked, Jinyoung reaching out for his hand whenever they went to visit his parents, Jinyoung glancing at him after answering every question their friends and colleagues would ask about them. It wasn’t that Jinyoung couldn’t hold his own nor that he lacked confidence, but Mark’s point about Jinyoung’s need for affirmation and constant support was not merely a by-product of a past childhood. A weight seemed to drop in Jaebeom’s stomach at the implications this newfound knowledge had on how he perceived Jinyoung’s well-being after his death.

“I don’t mean to make you worry even more,” Mark said, reading the grave expression on Jaebeom’s face. “I’m sure Jinyoung has grown so much since I’ve known him. I’m just saying you should–.”

But what exactly Jaebeom should do was lost on them as their moment and conversation became abruptly interrupted by Youngjae bursting into the room, panting, sweating, and very clearly distressed. Probably the most rattled Jaebeom had ever seen him and safe to say, it didn’t make him feel any less disconcerted.

“Jackson. Here. Soon. Cut himself.”

All it took for Mark was to hear Jackson’s name before he was bolting towards the entry door, much to Youngjae’s feeble attempts at getting in his way. Jaebeom hesitated, catching his brother as he tried to settle his breathing and erratic shaking. This was clearly not an occasion to celebrate.

“Hyung, this is bad. This is _really_ bad,” Youngjae panted out, clutching onto Jaebeom’s forearms with a deathly, desperate grip.

“Why?”

“Jackson took his own life after Mark sent another petal to him,” Youngjae wheezed out. “Suicide deaths have a difficult time in the afterlife: they become resentful and they almost never find peace. He can’t stay. He needs to go back. If Mark-hyung–.”

“If he stays here with Mark, they both will never find peace.” The conclusion became apparent to Jaebeom and it came with a sinking feeling in his gut. Jinyoung’s childhood friends leading a restless afterlife would counter everything Jinyoung tried to do in the wake of Jaebeom’s death.

“Exactly!” Youngjae exclaimed. “Jackson hasn’t truly passed yet. He’s comatose, but _he needs to go back_.”

The urgency in Youngjae’s voice wrecked Jaebeom’s nerves and he itched to run after Mark before he did something utterly stupid, but Youngjae was still looking like he’d pass out on the spot if Jaebeom let him go.

Seemingly reading his train of thought, Youngjae pushed his brother towards the hall Mark had run through. “Go! Stop him! I’ll catch up!”

By the time Jaebeom had returned to their entranceway, they already had a new occupant standing by the entry door: a man only familiar from the viewings Jaebeom had been allowed to witness had through the looking glass jar. But a man who looked much, much worse than his already emaciated form. Gaunt, hollowed eyes, a body with much too little body fat to fit what was formerly a sturdy frame, and an expression of utter, indescribable devastation.

Youngjae appeared a brief moment later, on the balls of his feet, ready to launch himself between Jackson and Mark if he had to, at the same time affronted that Jaebeom hadn’t taken immediate course of action, but Jaebeom held onto him. Something was transpiring between the two, something that neither Jaebeom nor Youngjae should intervene in.

“What are you saying, Mark?” Jackson was saying, his eyes flitting around Mark’s face as though he was searching for a reassurance to disprove whatever he had heard. Whatever had made him seem even more despairingly anguished than he already was.

“I’m saying it’s not your time yet,” Mark said, his voice surprisingly even, tone controlled, even if Jaebeom could see that his fingers trembled ever so slightly, hanging by his side. “You should go back. Let Jinyoung help you.”

Next to Jaebeom, Youngjae was squeezing his hand in a gradually strengthening grip. Jaebeom heard him inhale minutely and he tried to silently convey a grip of empathy back to his younger brother. This clearly was not what they had expected would take place.

Neither, it seemed, did Jackson.

The frown that creased Jackson’s forehead made his boney face even more ghoulish. “Are you saying you don’t want me here?” The hoarseness in his voice deepened. “You don’t want us to be together, Mark? You’re going to leave me behind like everyone else did?”

“I would never leave you behind, Jia Er,” Mark said, the way Jackson’s name rolled off his tongue taking on a very noticeably affectionate tone. “But you still have so much to live for. You still have a chance at life. Jinyoung found you. He cares about you. He can help you.”

_And you can help him_ , Jaebeom silently thought in his mind, still playing audience to the exchange.

As though summoned by Jaebeom’s thoughts, Jackson’s eyes flickered to him and Youngjae, a ways away behind Mark but visible nonetheless. His expression hardened when they returned to Mark.

“I can’t believe…I don’t believe you’d…,” Jackson took a deep, heaving breath. “I trusted you, Yi En. But you’re just like everybody else.”

“Jia Er, that’s not–.”

A beam of green suddenly began shimmering around the edges of Jackson’s form. The brighter and more intense the light became, Jackson’s solidity faded. The man in question didn’t seem to be unnerved nor even aware of what was happening to him, the look he was fixing onto Mark filled with much too deliberate disappointment, hurt, and betrayal for him to notice anything else.

“Don’t call me that ever again,” Jackson said, wet trickles already running down his cheeks despite his hardening, dead eyes, palpable even as Jackson’s form shimmered into something transparent. “I’m not your Jia Er. I’m clearly nothing to you.”

Jackson gave Youngjae and Jaebeom another spare glance of his attention, but he faded into green brightness with his gaze firmly set on Mark, dark and shrouded in a cloak of heavily growing disbelief and pain. Jaebeom could not see Mark’s reaction to being on the receiving end of such a venomous glare, but Mark’s rigid frame and trembling fingers spoke more than Jaebeom needed to know.

The last vestiges of Jackson’s form and the green light that escorted his departure was marked with a heartwrenching sob and a crumpled figure still staring blindly at where the spirit of his lover had been mere moments ago, declaring words that shattered his feelings, his heart.

Jaebeom let Youngjae go and took tentative steps towards Mark, careful to simply be a supporting, comforting presence as Mark had been to him before Jackson had appeared. He didn’t expect the man to fall back on him so trustingly, to let Jaebeom pull him into a slowly tightening hug as cries wrecked his being. This man who had treated him as an adversary, had berated his decision to have Jinyoung reach out to Jackson, who had refused to acknowledge him for the longest time…until that day. Until he saw Jaebeom’s vulnerability and began to have insight on the decisions Jaebeom’s made, the battles he had been fighting and what it meant to have Jinyoung in his life.

Jinyoung may be the common thread stringing he and Mark together, but as Jaebeom held onto the crying man, the recent events replaying in his mind, he realized that perhaps he and Mark both shared another commonality: a willingness to destroy one’s self, one’s own preservation of emotions and feelings, if it meant saving the person they loved.

***

Hospitals had become an unintended second home to Jinyoung. Not out of choice, clearly, but the time he had spent whilst Youngjae and Jaebeom fell ill had allotted a lengthy acquaintanceship with the place, one that he neither abhorred nor particularly cherished. People said hospitals only brought about painful memories of sick loved ones, but Jinyoung found that the time he had spent with the brothers in and out of their ward had only been times filled with hope and deliberate happiness, despite having known just what fate lay ahead for them both. They had never let being in such a sterile and mechanical environment get their spirits down, no matter how dire their health continued to deteriorate. To Jinyoung, it was just another place where he had been with the people he cared about and loved, nothing more nor less.

It was hard for Jinyoung to feel the same way this time around with Jackson.

The entire ambulance ride to the hospital, Jinyoung could only sit in silent distress, unsure how to even unpack the situation and how he had come across Jackson in the first place: wrists cut and submerged in running lukewarm water that did nothing to stop the growing pool of blood flooding the bathroom. Jinyoung could barely remember pulling Jackson’s arm out of the tub to wrap it tightly in whatever cloth he could reach, let alone the emergency phone call he had made that eventually led to an ambulance transporting the unconscious Jackson to the emergency room. Paramedics never declared his death, which was the only thing that Jinyoung clung onto as Jackson got moved from the emergency room to a shared ward with other recuperating patients, condition stable but still unconscious. The knowledge of Jackson’s being alive was the only thing that grounded Jinyoung as he was told of his childhood friend’s need for constant supervision, a mandatory procedure for all suicide attempt patients.

Jinyoung didn’t think he could have dealt with the knowledge that he had almost lost another significant person in his life, by deliberate choice of that exact same person. He knew that it was unfair for him to think so because he had no knowledge of what it was like to live in Jackson’s shoes to the point that he would try to take his own life, but Jinyoung had gone through two deaths where he was merely in the passenger seat, having no control of the wheel despite full knowledge of the grievous end to the journey. He would be damned if, this time around, with Jackson, he didn’t seize the opportunity to write his own ending, knowing that he had the ability to make such changes possible. Jackson had shown change over the time Jinyoung had persisted to reach out to him. He felt determined that he and Jackson were meant to stay by each other’s side, that they needed each other to get through everything life had thrown at them thus far.

His determination remained strong as he sat by Jackson’s side, wholeheartedly accepting the responsibility of supervising Jackson day in and day out, making sure he didn’t make any more attempts to endanger his own life. Granted they had nurses check in on him every hour to ensure exactly that, Jinyoung let it bear upon himself to shoulder that duty.

“I won’t let you die,” Jinyoung muttered, both hands clasping Jackson’s free one.

His heart ached for Jackson, the gauntness in his face, the almost lifeless, emaciated form that lay beneath the blankets. The verdict doctors had given that beyond just the blood loss, Jackson was severely dehydrated and with an alarming rate of foreign substances in his system. They weren’t hopeful, but they remained committed to leading him to recovery.

It was the first time Jinyoung had sat beside a hospital bed, feelings and emotions unsettled, but also fear for the person lying on the bed. With Youngjae and Jaebeom, it had never been a question of whether they would recover, it was simply a matter of whether Jinyoung could provide them with the ease of having their fates sealed with the time they had. With Jackson, Jinyoung didn’t know what to expect and, thus, had to battle his own wildly imaginative perceptions of future outcomes in addition to not knowing how to deal with Jackson whenever he regained consciousness (he tried hard not to think of this as an ‘if’ rather than a ‘when’).

Jinyoung was still unprepared when that moment eventually came: Jackson woke up after three days in a comatose state.

The first signs had been the heightened speed of the heartbeat monitor, coupled with much more frantic twitching of the fingers in Jinyoung’s hold. Before Jinyoung could properly process what was happening, Jackson was already coughing and breathing heavily from where he lay, eyes wide and round yet unfocused, as though he was still trying to comprehend the sight before him. Without even Jinyoung needing to call on the nurses, medical staff had come rushing, shunning him to the side to check on Jackson’s vitals.

Those shocked eyes paid no heed to the rush of nurses and designated doctor on duty tending to his condition, trying to ensure his surfacing into consciousness was not coupled with any unwanted complications. Instead, when they slowly regained focus, they saw over the frenzy happening around him and somehow found Jinyoung, pushed to a corner where the curtains had been drawn back to let the medical staff in, and their eyes locked. Jinyoung could visibly see the way Jackson’s gaze hardened as the seconds ticked by. When he opened his mouth, no voice came out, his throat clearly too hoarse and dry for sound to be formed.

But there was no mistaking the words he mouthed to Jinyoung, the utter anger and anguish written all over his face.

‘ _You should have let me die_.’

***

_There was music playing, faint but growing in volume as the heavy yet comfortable haze that weighed him down began to gradually clear. Or maybe that was just the blanket Jinyoung had buried himself in and someone was trying to pull him out of its cocooning warmth._

_Was that someone singing?_

_“You have a hold on my heart...I still have a lot of things to say after your birthday...my Jinyoungie’s birthday…it feels like this moment will never comeback...I can’t miss this chance….happy birthday to you….”_

_The song was much too upbeat for what Jinyoung’s body told him was an unreasonably much too early hour of the day. But was that a mention about his birthday?_

_“Are you going to keep frowning and refusing to come out of your comforter or will you finally let me sing my self-written birthday song for you?”_

_Jinyoung let out a whine, refusing to let the man win, petulantly pulling himself even deeper between cotton sheets. He heard Jaebeom chuckle fondly, placing what was probably some form of generic birthday cake on their bedside table along with whatever device he had used to play his accompanying music. There was a huff to blow what must have been lit candles, before Jaebeom dug himself into Jinyoung’s side._

_“If the birthday boy wants to stay in bed, then who am I to deny him?”_

_Jinyoung gave him a feeble kick to the shin. “You’re not supposed to blow the candles out on a cake if it’s not your birthday.”_

_“I can if the person celebrating their birthday refuses to do it and runs the risk of leaving a lit candle potentially burning an apartment down,” Jaebeom countered, trying to wiggle an arm underneath Jinyoung to circle his waist._

_Jinyoung groaned, pushing away Jaebeom’s arms purely out of spite rather than actually refusing the embrace. Jaebeom let him do so, not putting up a fight and remaining quiet and still for a few moments. Jinyoung thought he had won the morning scuffle and put off the birthday celebrations for at least a couple more hours of sleep, but not a second later, Jaebeom was scooting lower on the bed and dropping his head right by Jinyoung’s stomach. There was something oddly possessive yet doting about the way Jaebeom nuzzled his stomach. It wasn’t physical desire nor was it your everyday affection: it was vulnerable devotion to love._

_Jinyoung let him be, exhaling softly and relaxing into Jaebeom’s hold. He could feel every puff of breath Jaebeom made against the fabric of his shirt clinging to his stomach. It was warm, soothing, pacifying. His fingers absentmindedly stroked through Jaebeom’s soft hair, strands long and luscious to the touch. He didn’t miss the satisfied hum Jaebeom gave in response._

_This was nice._

_“Grope my butt and this moment will be ruined,” Jinyoung warned as he felt the telltale signs of Jaebeom’s hands creeping up the back of his thighs. “I_ will _kick you out of bed.”_

_Jaebeom gave a disappointed whine but let his hands rest back around Jinyoung’s legs, scooping him closer so he could bury himself deeper in Jinyoung’s navel. Jinyoung didn’t think he could have asked for a better birthday morning to wake up to. To be so loved, so safe, so fortunate. That was probably the best gift Jaebeom could give him, beyond any cakes or self-written songs._

No regrets _, Jaebeom would always say. In that moment, in Jaebeom’s arms, Jinyoung didn’t think he could ever have any regrets._

***

Jackson had been declared a high risk case.

Consequentially, Jinyoung was no longer qualified to be the person overseeing Jackson. Most particularly with the way Jackson reacted violently to Jinyoung being the reason Jackson’s suicide attempt had failed. Doctors deemed Jinyoung’s presence as contributive to Jackson’s volatile state of being and ultimately counterproductive to his recovery. But Jinyoung was the closest person Jackson had to a kin that the hospital could identify and hold legally and financially responsible. They really couldn’t prevent him from visiting or wanting to know Jackson’s condition.

Not that any of the staff on hand wanted to; they could all clearly see Jinyoung cared about Jackson and was only there for Jackson’s best interest. But it just meant that Jinyoung couldn’t stay by Jackson’s side as he had before, relying on the nurses’ recounts to let him know how Jackson was faring.

Which had, unfortunately, barely improved over the days. Jinyoung had been told of Jackson’s refusal for food and drinks, his countless attempts to remove his IV, and delirious sleep talks of ‘Mark abandoning him even in death’ amidst his general howls of anguish as he battled his own mind in his dreams. They had reached the point of having to prescribe him heavy duty sleeping pills so he would be able to rest properly. It had, at least, lessened the nighttime screaming and put the medical staff a little at ease.

Perhaps it was this knowledge that had been taken much too lightly despite Jackson’s continuously unstable state. Because the phone call Jinyoung received in the middle of the night from the hospital turned out to be much, much worse than finding Jackson in a pool of his own blood.

A car crash.

Two fatal casualties.

An impending criminal charge for involuntary manslaughter.

Jinyoung stepped into the all too familiar hospital ward after many an hour’s waiting, this time a private room and with two police officers standing guard over the door. It had been days since Jinyoung had seen Jackson in person or been at his bedside and things could not have been anymore contrasting. Jackson was calmly sitting up his bed, bandages around his chest and arms, scratches on his face. His free hand was cuffed to the metal railings of the bed, but he made no effort to fight against it. His gaze was blank but oddly serene, even if they shifted to Jinyoung as he entered.

Something had changed for them, unfortunate that it took a tragic accident for it to happen. But it was clear in the substantially less suffocating air around them, even if the knowledge of what lay ahead for Jackson’s future hung heavy above their heads. There was less wariness about one another and a significantly lowered guard, particularly from Jackson. So when their eyes met, it seemed like they were travelling decades back to the days when they had large backpacks on their bag, toothy smiles on their faces, and a strong sense of inseparable camaraderie. It was like they were back in their little sheltered cove in the local city park, exchanging tales and secrets they could only tell each other.

“I made a mistake, Jinyoung,” Jackson said before Jinyoung could even figure out how to best manoeuvre the change in their situation. “I made a mistake and I’m ready to pay for it.”

Jackson slowly dissolved into tears and it was the first time that Jinyoung finally felt that he had his childhood friend back again as he wrapped Jackson up in his arms and let him cry to his heart’s content.

***

_Small, padded feet scurried through the wet asphalt, some taking the little creatures closer, others bringing them away to their designated hiding spots. The brave few who closed the distance watched closely as dry food was poured onto a reusable takeaway container, one particular courageous tabby even being the first to sniff into the container._

_“Beommie...you need to step back and give them space so they can eat the food.”_

_There was a little shuffle of feet as Jaebeom hesitated between leaving the strays to the food he had left out and staying to have a closer look at the cats._

_“Babe, you can watch them fine from here,” Jinyoung tried again._

_Jaebeom finally gave in and went back to where Jinyoung stood, phone already out with the camera application opened. The distant strays immediately made a beeline for the food, crowding around the container to get their fill, some a little feistier than others._

_“Hey! Share your food!” Jaebeom called out, one hand still recording with his phone._

_The strays froze at Jaebeom’s voice, some scampering away again in fear, while others resumed eating as if Jaebeom had merely been an annoyingly loud neighbour._

_“Why can’t we have cats again, Jinyoungie?” Jaebeom asked with the most adorable whine in his voice, still not letting up with the recording._

_“Because your brother is deathly allergic to them,” Jinyoung said, trying to keep his exasperation to an absolute minimum because this discussion was too heavily repetitive._

_Jaebeom sighed. “Yes, I know. But he has Coco!”_

_“Coco is hypoallergenic, Beom,” Jinyoung said, the argument looping like a cycle. “Unless you can guarantee these strays are too, your brother will sneeze a hurricane if he ever even comes close to one.”_

_“But look how cute they are! And look at the chonky ones! Chubby cats are the best.”_

_The fondness in his voice was unmistakable. Neither was the look on his face with a smile so soft and eyes so adoring, Jinyoung had only seen it on Jaebeom the day they had attended Youngjae’s high school graduation a few years ago._

_“We should get back now,” Jinyoung said. “We can come back here again tomorrow.”_

_With a dramatic sigh and a last resigned look at the happily munching cats, Jaebeom nodded, following after Jinyoung who had already begun walking out of the small alley, back onto the main pedestrian path. Little did Jinyoung know that Jaebeom hadn’t just always that soft, adoring look for cats and his younger brother; it was definitely a look Jinyoung could invoke out of Jaebeom with the littlest of efforts and with the mere existence of his nearby presence._

_It was the look Jaebeom gave to everything that he loved._

***

With a heave, the last of the boxes made it into the donation truck. Jinyoung gave the driver the thumbs up and he locked up the truck, driving away to hopefully help distribute the items to people who would need them. Jinyoung was left with one last box in hand, heavier in their value than the actual weight of its contents.

A strained meow caught his attention and Jinyoung looked down to see the same calico that he’d met at Mark’s grave, now rubbing against his leg and weaving through them as though Jinyoung was its owner and the cat vying for his attention. The calico had, admittedly, been present by the building every time Jinyoung came by. Even on days when the calico wasn’t there, Jinyoung found that another cat had taken its place as though some sort of division of shifts had been made amongst the local stray cat community.

It hadn’t taken long, but it had been quite a bit of a to-and-fro for Jinyoung to clear out Jackson’s apartment in the short amount of time he had before Jackson’s landlord officially cancelled his lease. Jinyoung would have offered to simply have Jackson’s belongings stored at his apartment, but Jackson had been adamant about donating all of the things he deemed unworthy of keeping. Hence, Jinyoung was left with the one box of select items Jackson had particularly singled out as wanting to keep. Everything else could go. 

Jinyoung hated to think about the reasoning for Jackson’s detachment from his belongings with the sentence he had been given from his trial. Yet Jackson had seemed quite content with the results of his trial, if his admission of guilt since day one had been any indication. Pleading guilty from the very start had been a major reason his trial had lasted for a much shorter time frame. It also helped to lighten his sentence, even if Jackson felt undeserving of it.

The cat meowed again, rubbing even more insistently against Jinyoung’s leg as though it knew that it would be the last time Jinyoung would be there. Hesitantly, Jinyoung squatted down to give the cat a scratch behind its ears, the purr that it made almost instantaneous. The cat butted its head against Jinyoung’s palm and, in a feat of entirely un-cat-like behaviour, stretched its upper body to land its paws on Jinyoung’s knees. There was a moment where the cat did nothing but stare at Jinyoung, its eyes unwavering and still, almost reverent. Before Jinyoung could further question its behaviour, he felt a rough tongue lick his nose. The gesture was affectionate and Jinyoung felt something warm fill his heart at it, even if the absurdity of it coming from a stray cat lingered.

The cat ran off shortly after, leaving Jinyoung to pick up the box of Jackson’s belongings again to place in his car. The encounter stuck with him throughout the drive to the correctional facility, odd and curiously intriguing at the same time. Perhaps he was much too imaginative for his own good (or bordering on delusional), but the idea that the cat keeping him company was deliberately architectured only seemed to settle stronger in his mind.

Nevertheless, any thoughts of odd stray cats left his mind when Jackson stepped out of the security doors and was led to the table where Jinyoung had been waiting, his box of items waiting. Jackson paid no heed to the box, immediately engulfing Jinyoung in a tight hug.

“How are you?” he asked, taking a seat

Jinyoung chuckled, following Jackson’s lead. “You’re the one in prison, I should be asking _you_ that question.”

Jackson shrugged. “I’m paying penance for my crimes. I’m fine.”

“You’ve also set a precedent for new hospital protocols about letting people in and out of the mental health ward,” Jinyoung said. “The last time I went there to give the nurses a thank you package for taking care of your bothersome ass, I spent almost half and hour just going through security check to leave the ward.”

“That’s good, then,” Jackson said. “It really shouldn’t have been that easy for me to sneak out that night.”

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t have snuck out and driven like a maniac in the middle of the night,” Jinyoung said, eyes twinkling with mirth even if the insinuation was serious.

Jackson chuckled at the jab. They could joke about it now, with the trial being finished and Jackson carrying out his sentence, but it was still a dark reminder of what that night had cost, not only to Jackson, but to the victims.

“Have you managed to talk to the families yet?” Jackson asked, hands wrung together nervously.

Jinyoung shook his head sadly. “No, they still won’t meet with me,” he said. “But it’s not because of you. They are...reluctant to be associated with the accident.”

“What do you mean?” Jackson frowned.

“One of the families...didn’t like that his son was affiliated with the other boy.” Jinyoung’s expression was grim and with a look shared between him and Jackson, they both understood the implication behind Jinyoung’s words.

Jackson heaved a deep sigh. “Decades later and this society is still being stupid. You’d think they’d mature into decent human beings and not shun people for who they love anymore.”

Jinyoung reached out to hold Jackson’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “Not everyone is horrible. I’ve met some really great and supportive people.”

“Surely nobody as great as me,” Jackson said, grin wide.

Jinyoung shook his head, laughing. “No, nobody as great as you,” he agreed. “Which is why I went to all the trouble of bringing over this box of old junk for my great best friend.”

It was hilarious the way Jackson trembled with excitement in his seat, so childlike and pure, as though they were twelve again and Jinyoung was offering Jackson a bite off his ice cream. He grabbed the proffered box excitedly and barely waited to dig into its contents.

“It’s not junk,” Jackson belatedly countered, nose deep inside the box. “It’s everything that’s important in my life.”

“I packed the box, Jackson. I know what’s inside,” Jinyoung said, watching Jackson lay out a couple of items on the table between them. “I’m not one to judge if you think junk is important in your life.”

There were several movie tickets, candy wrappers, cards, some jewellery, and several more trinkets that held no financial value, but clearly meant the world to Jackson. He watched as Jackson held up a flimsy piece of photograph in his hand, eyes going glassy as he looked at it a minute longer than any other item he’d rifled through.

“You gave this to me even after I yelled at you and told you to go away,” Jackson said fondly, offering the picture to Jinyoung.

Sure enough it was the old picture of the two of them with Mark, the last time their friendship had been commemorated in film. It was the picture that launched Jinyoung’s entire search for his childhood friends and led him to where they were that day. Feeling the creased paper between his fingers, Jinyoung thought back to the moment he had found this picture and to the subsequent series of events afterwards. Something told him nothing was purely coincidental.

The next thing Jackson said made Jinyoung think his expression may have given away part of his inner thoughts or that his best friend really was capable of mind reading.

“Do you believe in the afterlife, Jinyoung?”

Jinyoung looked up, eyes wide. “What do you mean?”

Jackson put the box aside, along with the items he’d laid out on the table, his attention now undivided on Jinyoung.

“I think Mark has been communicating with me even after he died,” Jackson said nonchalantly, offhandedly, as though he spoke of what he had eaten earlier that day. Not even a hint of trying to be discreet at the inference of a potentially ludicrous topic being broached.

Jinyoung, on the other hand, felt himself freeze up, the hand holding the picture beginning to tremble slightly. A few hazy memories lingered at the back of his mind, most of them dreamlike, but others starkly reminiscent like his encounter with the calico earlier. The picture in his hand suddenly appearing before him that day despite the full knowledge that it had been stored elsewhere was another.

“That’s...that’s ridiculous,” Jinyoung said, but even to his own ears, he knew he sounded unconvincing.

Jackson studied Jinyoung’s face, his expression void of anymore light jokes and becoming entirely sombre. Compared to the earlier days when Jinyoung had seen him, victim to his own substance abuse and refusal to digest proper food, Jackson looked considerably much healthier. But as he calmly stared at Jinyoung, some of the gauntness seemed to return. Like the reminder of death still involuntarily brought on haunting memories of Jackson’s own darkest days.

“What was his name and when did he die, Jinyoung?”

If he’d frozen up before, this time Jinyoung went completely rigid, body stiffening even more with the question being posed. He couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his back nor the small tremor that resulted from it. There was no way...it could not have been possible that Jackson knew about Jaebeom. He’d been careful not to mention Jaebeom, unwilling to answer questions he, himself, was unprepared to address. But more than anything, he didn’t know how to go about talking about a deceased lover when the wound still felt as fresh as it had ever been. Especially not after knowing the way Mark’s death had almost literally drove Jackson over the edge.

It was startling, therefore, to hear Jackson address the question so calmly. And to follow his question with a recount that was, for lack of a better description, unsettlingly tranquil.

“When I tried to kill myself and fell into a coma, I met Mark,” Jackson said slowly. “And I think…your partner was there as well.”

There was no mistaking the sharp inhale Jinyoung took at this revelation. “You saw Jaebeom?” Unlike Jackson, Jinyoung’s voice was small, quiet, fearful of saying his name out loud and the implications behind the question.

“I saw two people there with Mark. One with a long mullet, one without,” Jackson clarified.

Jinyoung’s heart thumped with excitement. “That’s Jaebeom...and maybe Youngjae?”

“You know both of them?”

The lump in Jinyoung’s throat was difficult to swallow, emotions starting to get the better of him. “Youngjae is... _was_ Jaebeom’s younger brother. He died a few years ago from illness,” he elaborated. “Jaebeom had the same illness and...left a few months ago.”

Jinyoung’s face was wet before he even became aware that he was crying, the only realization coming from Jackson dabbing the sleeve of his inmate jumpsuit on Jinyoung’s cheeks. There were so many emotions rushing through Jinyoung at the same time: fresh grief, confusion, bewilderment, but, most of all, relief. If it were true that Jackson had seen both Jaebeom and Youngjae, then that meant they were together, reunited in the afterlife, possibly happy. And Jinyoung didn’t think he could wish for anything more for the brothers he loved with all his heart.

“He seemed like a good guy,” Jackson said, continuing to dab at Jinyoung’s cheeks even as his sleeve grew steadily damper. “I would have liked to have met him.”

“I’m sure you two would have gotten along greatly,” Jinyoung said with a laugh, finally taking the initiative to wipe his own tears, careful not to accidentally dampen the photograph he still had in his hand.

The picture caught Jackson’s eye. “I think he sent you that picture so that you could find me.”

Jinyoung’s laughter continued and he gave a noncommittal shrug, tears still streaming down his face apparently beyond his control. “I don’t know. But if he did, I can’t believe he’s still looking out for me when he’s supposed to be resting in peace.”

Jackson tilted his head, holding Jinyoung’s hand in his, this time returning the comforting squeeze. “Because he loves you,” he said. “When you love someone that much, you don’t let something silly like death tear you apart.”

The growing croakiness in Jackson’s voice told Jinyoung that those words weren’t only for him. His eyes strayed to the box that lay wide open by Jackson’s side, filled to the brim with nondescript items nobody could make heads nor tails out of. The last vestiges of Jinyoung’s tears subsided, replaced by a growing empathy for his childhood friend. 

“Are all those things you asked me to keep from Mark?”

Jackson glanced at the box, a fond smile gracing his face, suddenly making him ten years younger. “I also have the stuff you kept leaving at my door,” he said with a soft chuckle, pulling out boxes familiar to Jinyoung that Jinyoung would not have thrown away even if Jackson had asked him to. He was glad his friend had never considered that an option. “But yeah, these are mostly from Mark.”

Jinyoung bit his lip. “From...after?”

Jackson turned back to Jinyoung, that soft expression still on his face. “Some from before.”

Jinyoung remembered a time when he had first mentioned Mark to Jackson and the way he had flared pronounced, as though the memory of a time with Mark prior to his death had now become something Jackson could happily reminisce.

“The ones I got from after he died drove me crazy,” Jackson divulged. “It was like he was still there with me, but he wasn’t. It felt like I lost him all over again every single time. I missed him so much and I didn’t have a healthy way of coping with grief. Unlike you.”

Jackson’s words rang false; Jinyoung did not feel like he dealt with his grief well at all. His mind and heart refused to even delve into the realm of grief, escaping in the only means he could: by focusing on something else entirely. Jinyoung had never given himself time to properly grieve. Jinyoung had never let himself acknowledge his own pain.

Words fluttered at Jinyoung’s throat, fighting hard to come out, an image of stray cats, faded dreams, and the photograph still clutched between his fingers fluttering into view. The struggle was readable and evident on Jinyoung’s face, propelling Jackson to hold both of Jinyoung’s hands in his own, careful with the photograph he wouldn’t let go. Jinyoung hadn’t realised that he was trembling again, not until Jackson’s grip grounded him.

“What messages did Jaebeom send you?” Jackson asked softly. “Other than that photograph, of course.”

“Cats,” Jinyoung found himself stuttering out, breath suddenly short at the realization that these really had been Jaebeom’s doing all along, that he hadn’t been crazy, that his lover continued to look out for him beyond the grave, “stray cats keeping me company around your place and Mark’s grave. And dreams. I think...I think I’ve had dreams about him…. No. Not about him, _with_ him.”

Jackson nodded understandingly. “I think he’s sending you much more than those without you realizing it. But now you know that he’s still loving you even from afar. He misses you too, Jinyoung.”

It was the very last of Jinyoung’s control and far from merely sobbing with tears streaming down his face, he completely broke down. It was only the second time Jinyoung had let himself break his own defensive walls down, the first being that day after Jaebeom’s funeral. He felt weak, fatigued, drained emotionally from having to keep himself composed for so long. It felt like a relieving release even if the place and timing seemed at the oddest. But having Jackson there, holding his hand and letting him cry to his heart’s content, everything around him disappeared and he could focus on no longer ignoring the pain of separation, of death, of Jaebeom not being by his side. He could finally let himself go and begin the process of moving on.

***

_“I think we’re lost.”_

_The angry stomping and frantic swatting of tall, dry grass disrupted the otherwise peaceful sounds of nature around them. It was marred only by the occasional clicks and whirs of an analogue camera._

_“We are_ NOT _lost,” Jinyoung insisted, looking at the expanse of crinkled map in his hands. “I_ know _where to go.”_

_Jaebeom tried his best not to sigh, knowing Jinyoung’s ego would not allow another blow. Instead, he carefully scanned their surroundings, seemingly endless fields and trees across the horizon and beyond. The sun was beginning its descend and the wind was picking up. Beyond knowing it would be best for them to find their way to a local farm or village soon, Jaebeom couldn’t help but marvel at the natural background put on offer as a canvas for his photography._

_He tried to be as discreet as possible as he captured Jinyoung’s silhouette against the orange sky. The noise of his camera felt thunderous against the reverently tranquil nature and Jinyoung’s halted steps. It came as no surprise when Jinyoung turned around with a frown on his face._

_“Are you taking a picture of me while I’m trying to figure out how to get out of this godforsaken field?!”_

_Jaebeom couldn’t help the cheeky grin he offered Jinyoung. “I thought you said you knew where to go.”_

_Even in the shadows of the setting sun, Jaebeom could see the way Jinyoung’s ears turned bright red in embarrassment._

_“I do!” he said stubbornly, turning back to his map and looking around at the unrecognizable landscape before him._

_Jaebeom would have plucked his ears affectionately as he was wont to doing whenever Jinyoung flamed out of bashfulness, but the man in question was suddenly making a loud exclamation and pointing excitedly in their general left._

_“There’s a farmhouse over there! Which means the town is a few miles in that direction! See, I told you we weren’t lost!” Jinyoung said triumphantly._

_Jaebeom cared neither for their whereabouts nor the fact that Jinyoung’s hardheadedness almost resulted in them having to camp out overnight in an open field. The look of unadulterated joy on Jinyoung’s face as he trudged over to the direction of the farmhouse was everything Jaebeom could ever wish to see for the rest of his life. He didn’t care that Jinyoung was waving him on to follow, only that he had to immortalize that heartstopping smile and the beauty that was Park Jinyoung in film and in his memory._

_Jinyoung’s happiness and the warmth of his smile would be the only things he wished to take to his grave._

***

Jackson died a year after his incarceration.

He had made a complete turn from being an addict and alcoholic into someone who had patiently helped other inmates deal with their psychological burdens. But by then it had been too late for him; his body had been introduced to too many toxins and suffered through suffering much too often for it to survive any longer. But he passed away peacefully in his sleep to the mourning of the entire penitentiary and Jinyoung. Those who had first discovered Jackson’s passing retold stories of a smile gracing his final resting face.

Jinyoung was, once again, left alone to grief and watch another important person in his life laid to the grave. But the year he had spent frequently visiting Jackson had been fruitful and possibly the most uplifting he could have undergone in the aftermath of Jaebeom’s death. He and Jackson had been key in bringing together individuals who had been shunned by their families, found themselves alone and struggling to survive, to create a supportive community of oddballs that would become their new home. It was how Jinyoung spent the rest of his years, the new purpose in his life serving him well.

Throughout the decades that his life allowed him to live, Jinyoung never felt alone. The community he helped build grew in numbers and strength around him, proving to be a new family to him as he was to them. But beyond that, Jinyoung also found companionship in the little things that came to him each and every day: a flower that landed in his palm as he walked to his car, accessories that he had thought he’d lost years ago turning up on his dresser, old photographs appearing all around his apartment, and cats. So many stray cats following Jinyoung whenever he walked alone, rubbing their heads against his calf and winding between his legs on particularly bright days.

He knew what they meant and it warmed his heart whenever any of these things took place, knowing that the people he cared about were still looking over him.

By the time Jinyoung had succumbed to old age, he didn’t feel like he was leaving the world, rather preparing himself for the next adventure that lay before him. He knew he had created something positive for the living to continue building for him and that put him at ease. He had done what he could in his life, there wasn’t much more he could have done. But he was much too ready to bid the living world goodbye and welcome the peacefulness of death.

The first thought that crossed Jinyoung’s mind when he died was how peaceful he felt, an utterly serene experience of floating and being weightless. The second thing that he could perceive was how stereotypically bright everything was beginning to turn, with ringing bells accompanying the steadily blinding light. It was truly as cliched as they had portrayed in the movies.

Jinyoung was only beginning to wonder whether the light would become less intrusive when he was suddenly overcome with an embracing warmth surrounding him. But this had nothing to do with the light; it was a different kind of warmth that seemed to seep deeper into him, comforting even his heart and soul. It was an oddly familiar warmth, one he felt he knew, one that his body, mind, and soul reacted to with yearning.

The light began to fade and Jinyoung’s sight resumed. He blinked away the spots to be greeted by the softness of a gaze so loving and adoring, he never realized it struck another sense of familiarity in him. A smile so genuine and unbridled, Jinyoung should have realized sooner that it had always been reserved for him. And a voice so soothing, Jinyoung didn’t think he had ever been able to fully relax in his life after he had lost the privilege of ever hearing that voice again.

“You’re here,” Jaebeom said, voice reflecting disbelief yet joy at the same time.

“I’m here,” Jinyoung said, nodding, and noticing for the first time that familiar faces stood a distance away behind Jaebeom.

But Jaebeom didn’t let him ponder too much on the others who were waiting for him. Jaebeom wanted an entire afterlife to remind Jinyoung how much he loved him.

  
***  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This was a race to the absolute finish! *phew*
> 
> Firstly, thank you to @pechebeom for the lovely moodboard! I think it really sets the tone for the story and I love it!
> 
> Secondly, thank you to everyone who made it to the end of the fic! This was a monster to write! I have had this fic sitting in my WIPs for solong and when the announcement for the JJP Big Bang came around, I knew I had to sign this fic up so I could see it through 'till the end! (Edit: and a HUGE thank you to the mods of JJP Big Bang for being patient and accommodating as well as for arranging this!)
> 
> Thirdly, shout out to my sister who egged me on 'till the very last minute and kept me motivated throughout the entire process!
> 
> Comments, feedback, general love and ranting are more than welcome!
> 
> Lots of love,  
> miangel29
> 
> (Edit: Reading the comments that have been submitted, I wanted to briefly share something personal about this fic: the reason I had written/or been inspired to write this fic was to cope with my dad's death a couple of years ago. The miracle era got me thinking about death, the afterlife, and the general divide between our living world and what lays beyond that. I was sick of being sad but I didn't want to be in denial of my own grief, so this came about. Do I believe in the afterlife? Possibly, yes. But I do believe that those we love who have left us behind will continue to look over us and their love transpires beyond life and death. For those who have had to cope with the death of a loved one, this gives you hope or at least a sense of peace as it did for me.
> 
> Thank you very much to those who have left kudos and comments <3)


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